


Teaching Safety

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Begging, Blackmail, Bondage, Cock Rings, Condoms, Dildos, Dry Orgasm, Dubious Consent, First Time, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Fucking Machines, Gang Rape, Implied/Referenced Incest, In Public, Incestual Voyeurism, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Milking, Multiple Orgasms, No Refractory Period, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage Rape/Non-con, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators, forced to fuck, heed the tags, oversensitivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21865453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A teacher at Midtown figures out Spider-Man's identity, and he uses it to get Peter exactly where he wants him. There's no escape without innocent people getting hurt, and he can't tell the Avengers, so Peter has to hold out until he can figure out a new deal. As the pile of blackmail grows higher, Peter finds himself in an ever-stickier web that he can't see a way out of.Lots of graphic non-con involving Peter who is about 16/17 years old. If you're not ok with that, don't read this.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Original Female Character(s), Peter Parker/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 101
Kudos: 306
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I'm definitely not kidding about with these tags. The tags at the beginning are for this chapter (rape/non-con Elements - underage rape/non-con), and I'll be adding tags with each chapter, so just check those as you go. Please stay safe while reading. Now, without further ado, allow me to be unapologetically evil.

The first day something felt wrong was a Tuesday. Peter and Ned were partnered on a worksheet in chemistry, and Peter raised his hand to ask Mr.Westworth to clarify something that had them both confused. The suave, well-built man came over and stood on Peter’s right. He was an ex-football player with a towering, bulky frame much to high for high school desks, so as Peter explained the question, Mr.Westworth leaned down to get a closer look at the problem he was pointing at. When he did so, the man’s large hand came to rest on Peter’s lower back. The hairs on Peter’s neck shot up, blaring warning signals at him. The student shifted in his seat and the hand came off, resting on the back of his chair instead. Ned didn’t seem to notice it, typing things into his calculator. After the teacher walked away, Peter staring at the retreating back carefully.

“Dude, you good?” Ned nudged him when Peter didn’t answer his question. Peter snapped out of it, shaking his head. He was still getting used to the spider-sense, so it was probably just a random reaction to an unexpected touch.

“Yeah. It’s nothing. Was just out late last night.”

* * *

The next time was that Thursday during a lab. Peter mixed his chemicals the way he always did, stirring them together in the beaker. He felt, rather than heard, Mr.Westworth approach.

“Parker,” Mr.Westworth tsked. “You’re stirring wrong.” Peter paused and looked up in confusion.

“But- this is how I’ve always done it… You’ve never said anything before,” Peter said.

“I must’ve just missed it. You got such a bright, beautiful brain, y’know? I assumed you’d already have it down. Here,” Mr.Westworth set a steadying hand on Peter’s shoulder while his other settled over the small hand on the stirring rod. Peter’s spider-sense simmered again, but Pete tried to shrug it off. Unless Mr.Westworth was secretly a villain like Vulture, there was no threat. He was just a teacher, and teachers tend to be pretty safe.

Mr.Westworth moved their hands around, showing Peter to stir it slower, in more of a figure eight fashion (not that Peter had _ever_ heard of that method). After the motion stopped, Peter still felt off, and he flexed his hand pointedly. It was subtle, but prompted Mr.Westworth’s hand to come off his, albeit lingering a little longer than necessary. Peter let out the tension in his shoulders. He stared at his beaker intently as the man moved on, trying to sort out the weird feeling in his stomach.

* * *

On Friday, the school held an event for Peter’s grade. They rented out a small facility that had an arcade, trampoline gym, bull ride, and bowling alley. Peter and Ned started off on the trampolines, but Peter’s limbs itched with the effort of holding back his powers so much. He could so easily jump up and hit the wall if he wasn’t careful, and Peter was finding himself increasingly distracted. As a result, Ned and Peter hopped in line for the bull ride. MJ waited with them, although she had no intention of riding it herself.

When Peter’s turn came, he found himself to be naturally good at riding the bull… probably because he lowkey just stuck to it. As the ride accelerated to try and buck him off, his hearing picked up a few voices.

“Whoa. Look at Parker go.” Peter swore mentally. He was supposed to be weak and clumsy like he was before the bite. As Peter thought about the best way out of the situation, he momentarily stopped thinking about the bull. His weight lurched to the left, and Peter started to sink. Out of pure survival instincts, his hand squeezed the handle, pulling himself back up. However, with the mental survival panic and the bull swinging right, Peter pulled way too hard with his super-strength. He flew over the back of the bull he meant to land on, going past the safety foam. His face smacked into the wall and Peter crumbled to the ground.

 _Fuck_ , Peter thought to himself groggily. He tried to open his eyes but everything spun above him, and the prickling warnings of spider-sense buzzed in his body, so he closed them again. _Bit late there, Spidey-Sense…_

“Peter?!” Ned’s voice sounded distanced and warbled, but Peter felt the familiar hand on his bicep.

“‘M okay,” Peter forced out. Hands helped him sit up, and he could taste blood around his lips.

“He’s lucky his nose doesn’t look broken. Probably has a concussion though,” A man’s voice said. It sounded familiar, but Peter ignored it, just trying to stay upright. Sure, he healed fast, but he wasn’t invincible. He still took injuries the same way, and they still fucking _hurt_.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, dude,” Ned offered.

“No,” The same male voice said. “There’s no need for you to lose your spot in line, Leeds. I’ll take care of him. Promise.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” A strong pair of arms wrapped around Peter’s waist, helping him to his feet. Everything was prickling and tingling, warning him of nothing in his disorientated state. Peter leaned heavily as they proceeded to the bathroom, one hand trying to quench the blood while his other arm was being supported by strong hands. As they approached the bathroom, Peter finally made out that it was Mr.Westworth helping. They made it to the family bathroom, but Peter still felt dazed. He was too groggy to register the door that automatically closed behind them on its own weight, and he certainly missed the click of the lock.

Mr. Westworth leaned him against the sink so the blood dripped there instead of the ground. As the paper towels started to slow the bleeding, Peter’s mind bubbled to the surface, Peter started to realize a pressure on his hips. Yes, his hips were pressed against the sink so he can lean over, but he recognized Mr.Westworth’s hips against his own, pushing him into the porcelain. Mr. Westworth slightly hunched over him, helping bring wet paper towels to Peter’s face. It wasn’t a comfortable position, but he was just trying to help, Peter told himself. Teachers are supposed to be there for their students and help them. Always.

When his coherence was almost all the way back, Peter pushed back slightly from the sink, disguising it as a shift. The giant man’s hips didn’t relent, and Peter could feel rather than hear a noise in the man’s throat at the friction. Alarm bells rung in Peter’s head, and his heartbeat accelerated. Something wasn’t right, and he had to stop ignoring his gut. He might still be wrong, but he wasn’t going to find out.

“I think I’m good Mr. Westworth. Thanks.” He tried to push back again, and it took a second, but Mr.Westworth slowly stepped to the side, watching his student intently. Peter grabbed another couple paper towels, pressing them to his nose.

“Yeah, Parker,” Mr. Westworth said quietly, his voice low and soothing, creating that calming presence that Peter sorta liked (he paid an unusual amount of attention to voices due to his enhanced hearing). “You are good. Good at a lot of things actually.”

“Thanks,” Peter accepted the compliment tentatively but tried to exit the conversation. “I can go back out now. I’m feeling better.” He stepped towards the door, but suddenly the former linebacker was standing in his way. Peter’s chest tightened, and he knew that the Spider-Sense wasn’t just coming from the concussion now.

“Not quite yet.” Mr. Westworth protested. “Like I said. You’re good at a lot of things.” The man reached for his phone and slid open some pictures. “Like web-swinging. Sticking to things. Eating churros.” The last picture has Peter eating without his mask on while on the phone with someone. _Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit._

“Mr.Westworth- I don’t-“

“Shhh. It’s okay. I’m not going to reveal your identity,” Mr.Westworth assured. Peter looked at him warily. He should’ve denied it, really, but he could see the resolve in Mr.Westworth’s eyes. He knew. Nothing Peter said would convince him otherwise. Peter considered the statement, and he decided it wasn’t a threat if the man didn’t intend to reveal the info. His spider sense could’ve just been going off because the man knew his identity and t _hat_ _could_ be a threat. But it wasn’t. It was fine.

“Thanks,” Peter said, grabbing a fresh paper towel for his nosebleed.

“However,” Mr.Westworth said carefully. “I do have something special for the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. A little treat. You can come by tomorrow night and get it.” Peter assumed it must be some cookies or a gift or something. Mr.Westworth wouldn’t be the first one in the neighborhood to reach out to the hero. Peter smiled weakly and nodded. That sounded alright. The teacher’s house was probably on his patrol route.

* * *

That’s how Peter got there, standing in front of a house not too different from the house he lived in when Ben was still alive. Spider-Man knocked on the door, and he was a little surprised to see a girl open it. She’s about his age, and she looks Spider-Man over for a second, confused, but also calculating.

“Hi. I’m uh- I’m Spider-Man,” Spider-Man chirped. She didn’t respond to him, but she stepped aside for him to enter. Peter felt the chilly Saturday night air fall away as he stepped in.

“Dad?” She started down the entryway, and Peter followed. His teacher never mentioned a daughter in class. Not that Peter remembered, at least. “Spider-Man is here?” Her tone was questioning, and there was something else in it. He couldn’t tell what. Spider-Man didn’t focus on it for too long though, as they’d entered the living room.

“Oh. There you are, Parker,” Mr. Westworth said from the couch, giving him a smile. The girl looked him over again.

“You invited him?” The girl asked.

“Yes. He’s a guest,” Westworth shrugged. The girl’s eyes flickered to Peter once more, and then she was grabbing her younger sister, maybe about 8 years old. The girl whispered in her younger sister’s ear, and lead her from the room. Spider-Man stood awkwardly by the entrance, a bit surprised by the prompt exit. Usually little kids are excited to see him.

“Hey. I’m just popping by before patrol,” Spider-Man explained. He knew he was invited, but still felt the need to excuse himself. It was just how he was raised. Peter also took off the mask, since it might be considered a hat or show lack of trust in his teacher. Westworth nodded, slowly getting up from the couch. Peter shifted awkwardly “What did you want me to pop by for?”

“Come on. I’ll show you,” Mr.Westworth said. He draped an arm over Spider-Man’s shoulders and began to guide him down the hall. The hairs on his neck prickled, and Peter felt the urge to scratch the feeling away, but Peter didn’t want to be rude, so he suppressed the instinct. He’d been too paranoid since Thanos. Peter expected to turn into the kitchen he saw, but instead, the teenager nearly stumbled when they passed it. Mr.Westworth steered him toward a doorway, and Peter stopped short, heels pressing into the ground.

A million alarms went off in his head. His stomach was flipping itself over like a washing machine, and it felt like the entire world had just crashed in on him. His brain scrambled in all directions, trying to come up with a logical- a better- explanation for this. Why the hell were they in the doorway of a bedroom?!

Mr. Westworth was a teacher. Teachers are always trustworthy and don’t hurt their students. He probably just left the gift in his closet, Peter told himself. But then, Peter was shoved forward into the bedroom, and the door closed behind him. No, no, no! It was a trap all along. It was a trap this whole time and just walked right fucking into it. How was he so stupid?

“Mr.Westworth-“

“Shhh,” The man hushed, surprisingly gentle. He locked the door behind him, and he didn’t even look, as if he’d locked that door a million times. “I told you I had a surprise for you.” He moved closer to the boy now fighting valiantly to keep any semblance of fear off of his face. He scanned for a way out, but there were no windows. His mask was in the living room.

“You said it was a treat. I assumed you meant some cookies or something good,” Peter said. Westworth chuckled at the naïveté.

“Oh, this can be much better than cookies,” As Westworth moved closer, Peter instinctively stepped back, his knees bumping into the bed. He needed to get out of there. Strong hands shoved him again, causing him to fall onto the plush mattress.

Then Westworth was upon him, and Peter tried to shove him off, but the man leaned over him, pinning his wrists above his head and shoving rough lips against soft ones. Spider-Man squirmed desperately.

“Mr.-“ The gasp was cut off with another kiss. Spider-Man summoned up his strength and shoved the man away. Not hard enough to send him flying, but enough to overpower him and force him off. Peter could barely breathe. “I-I can’t. You won’t- Please,” Peter stammered.

“I can and I will,” Mr.Westworth didn’t step back at all, but Peter was able to sit up on the edge of the bed now, his neurons rapidly trying to decrypt the situation. “I mean, you _can_ call the cops, but I’m sure they’d be very interested to know who you are. Same goes for a lot of your friends in prison, dontcha think?”

“You’re- you’re blackmailing me?” Peter asked incredulously, and he felt the weight of the situation dragging him further underwater. He knew what happened to people who went through this. He’d seen too much of it on patrol in too short of a time. He can’t…

“Blackmail sounds a little harsh. I’d say it’s more like making a deal-- your identity in exchange for my… happiness,” Mr.Westworth shrugged. Peter felt sick. He-he couldn’t agree. It would be- y’know. But May and Ned and MJ, they could get hurt if people knew. But people were traumatized by this kind of thing. Peter wasn’t even fully grown yet and this man wanted to do… things to him. He couldn’t agree. Well, he _could_ . But he shouldn’t. Peter ran his hands through his hair, trying to send his anxious energy _somewhere_.

“Take your time. I have all night, Petey.” The nickname didn’t help the boy at all. He felt his heart slamming against the front of his chest, and he worried Westworth would be able to hear it. Every fiber in his body was telling him to run or fight or do _something_. His brain buzzed, trying to decipher everything. He was going to launch into a full panic attack if he didn’t get the fuck out right fucking now.

“I- I can’t-“ Peter tried to say he couldn’t breathe, but he couldn’t finish it, and Westworth assumed the teenager was talking to him. He finally took a step backward toward the door.

“Okay… that’s fine. I'll just go post all the pictures I have. Hey, do me a favor. If anyone wants to assassinate you, make sure they don’t do it in my class because I don’t wanna write that shit up,” Westworth took another couple steps, reaching behind him to undo the lock.

As soon as he heard the click, Peter assumed he would feel less trapped, but instead the adrenaline just surged through him. May… Ned…. he couldn’t risk it. He could always change his mind later, right?

“Wait.” The words left Peter’s mouth like sandpaper, and they threatened to choke him. “Okay.”

Mr. Westworth locked the door again, sealing their agreement. He re-approaches the teenager whose eyes already watered.

“Good call,” Westworth smirked. He put a hand on the back of Peter’s neck, and the teenager barely restrained the flinch. The man leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Minimal resistance, or the deal’s off, got it? Can’t have you launching me through a wall.” Peter felt the hot, disgusting breath on his skin and nodded subtly, no longer able to speak. Westworth tilted his head, kissing in front of Peter’s ear.

"That goes for telling anyone about this, too. Don't stupidly think that the Avengers can protect everyone you love once the entire world knows how weak you are." Westworth’s free hand came up to cup Peter’s cheek, and he slowly kissed his way back to Peter’s mouth. Peter let out a shaky breath as their lips made contact. _No. Please no._ How was he letting this happen? He knew how, but he just couldn’t believe it. Why would Mr.Westworth even do this? He’s just a kid...

Mr.Westworth leaned forward, forcing Peter to lean back onto the bed again. He had the urge to run-- to escape. But Peter laid like a deadweight, not pushing the man off, letting it happen. The teenager clenched his eyes shut, and he gathered the comforter in his fists to make sure he didn’t fight back out of instinct. A hand carded through his hair, stroking the intertwining curls in a way that made the teenager shiver.

When Peter felt a tongue pushing against his teeth, his brain panicked. He hadn’t kissed anyone before. What was he supposed to do?! He cracked his eyes open, both afraid to see Mr.Westworth and dreadfully hopeful for some sort of hint. All he got back were dark, dilated eyes boring into his, and he snapped his eyelids shut again. Westworth seemed frustrated by the lack of responsiveness, so he grabbed the boy’s jaw and squeezed, forcing the teeth to fall open naturally.

“Don’t you dare bite,” Westworth warned. Peter nodded, but his entire body flinched when the man’s tongue breached his mouth. He felt like he was going to be sick and tried to move, but strong, muscled hands pressed his shoulders down. Spider-Man distantly heard Westworth shushing him, and Peter realized he was being pushed up the bed. He shimmied back until his body was completely on the bed, and the ex-linebacker covered the teenager’s body with his own.

The kissing resumed now, and something else began: Westworth started to grind his hips down into Peter’s. Eyes shooting open, Peter squeaked and struggled underneath Westworth, but he was too small and weak while holding back his powers to be more effective than a nuisance. A slap stung Peter’s face.

“I told you not to resist,” Westworth scolded. Peter was doing his best to still, but he could feel Westworth moving above him, and his face molded in disgust. The effort of keeping still was causing his body to heat up. “Good boy.”

Peter heard the clink of a belt being undone with one hand before it was tossed to the side. He felt something warm against the side of his leg, and felt like he was going to be sick again. A finger slid underneath the collar of his neck, and Peter flinched violently, shaking his head frantically. He found his voice again.

“No! Mr. Westworth, please!” _He can’t take it off. He can’t!_ Westworth put his hands on his shoulders to steady him again, but Peter thrashed, nearly pushing the man off by accident. The renewed vigor took Westworth aback, and he temporarily lightened his grip, thinking. “Sir, please!”

“Fine. But next time, it comes off, okay?” Westworth offered. Peter felt a new wave of despair at the idea of a ‘next time’, but he nodded out of instinct. All he could think about was today, and he had the suit for now.

The teacher continued to grind down, and Peter realized with sinking horror that he too was getting hard. His breath lodged in his throat, and he tried to think of something bad, anything bad. But all he could think of was the body moving above him, and his senses overloaded. He smelled his own sweat mixing with Mr.Westworth’s musk. He tasted something bitter, like coffee, inside his mouth (Peter didn’t drink coffee). He heard the subtle rustle of the sheets as he was humped against them. And the worst thing? His body was responding to the friction. He tried to make it go away. To will it out of existence. But the erection was there, and it ached for attention.

Peter was suffocating, but he couldn’t escape. Peter’s whole body moved with the force of his teacher’s thrusts. Tears leaked out the side of the boy’s eyes, and after what felt like an hour, Peter finally heard a groan followed by the feeling of warmth on his leg. Westworth slowed to a stop, and Peter sagged with relief when the man finally moved off of him. He laid there for a minute, trying to calm down. The ceiling stared back at him. Did that- did that just happen? He could feel dampness on his thigh, but he was too afraid to look.

“You can get up now.” The voice caused Peter to wince once again. Peter slowly got up, but his legs felt like jelly. He rested a hand on the bed for balance. Mr.Westworth’s face was unreadable. “You were a good boy today, Petey. I’m sure this arrangement will work out nicely. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Peter nodded absentmindedly, his eyes refusing to focus.

“Clean up before you go,” Mr.Westworth reminded. Peter finally looked down and his face turned redder than his suit. There was a white goop on his thighs. He reached for the lock on the door, and after fumbling a little, he got the door open. His feet carried him to the kitchen, and he tried his best to wipe it off with a wet paper towel. It was uncomfortable to touch down there, as he still had an erection, but he knew he couldn’t go out like this. When he turned around, Westworth was leaning against the counter, watching him.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Mr.Westworth said, and Peter moved quickly, making sure to stay ahead of the man so Wesworth couldn’t touch him again. He only stopped to pull on his mask and let his teacher open the front door. Karen greeted him, but he ignored her.

“Get home safe, Petey.” Peter didn’t respond. He just shot out a web and got away as fast as meta-humanly possible. Peter tumbled through his window ten minutes later and immediately fell onto his hands and knees, gasping for air.

“Are you alright, Peter? I can call Mr.Stark if you’d like,” Karen offered. Peter wrapped one arm around his stomach, feeling sick. He couldn’t breathe. “Calling Mr.Stark.”’

“No!” Peter protested, and Karen canceled the call. Peter ripped off the mask and got up, stripping the suit off. He rushed to the bathroom and turned the shower on hot. After tearing off his boxers, Peter jumped into the stream and scrubbed his body with soap repeatedly. After what must’ve been the 5th time, Peter sunk down, bringing his knees up to his chest as the water pounded down on him. He has no idea how long he sat like that before he heard the knock on the door.

“Peter?” May calls. Peter rubbed the tears out of his eyes, clawing his way back to the present.

“Y-Yeah?”

“You okay? I didn’t hear you come in,” May asked, and the gentleness in her voice- her sweet, caring voice- almost made him cry all over again. Peter swore quietly and took a deep breath.

“Yeah. I’ll uh- I’ll be out in a minute,” Peter promised. Once the footsteps receded, he washed himself twice more before finally climbing out of the shower. He trekked back into his room to grab sweatpants and his comfiest, largest sweater- one that used to belong to Ben. He often wore it when anxious, and at this point, he was willing to do anything to feel safe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the top for updated tags. This chapter involves toys, bondage, and referenced domestic abuse (including incest). Tags are "bondage... referenced incest".

“Parker. We made a deal,” Westworth said warningly. It was Sunday night now, and Peter felt tiny as the teacher held him close, arms hooked around his neck in an embrace that an outsider might’ve thought was loving; but Peter was suffocating, and Westworth wasn’t even kissing him at the moment.

“I- I can’t-“ Peter stammered, feeling his body clam up.

“You agreed,” Mr.Westworth hooked a finger in the neckband of Spider-Man’s suit, pulling at it. Peter clenched his eyes shut, and Westworth’s fingers sent a silent warning as he grazed the back of Peter’s neck. “Pete...“

Peter took shallow breaths, hauling his hand up to his chest. He’d had all day to prepare for this, but it wasn’t enough. He’d laid in bed the whole day-- trying to reason his way out, deflecting May’s concerned check-ins, and he’d only snuck out when his phone alarm screamed that he couldn’t hold back any longer. He double-tapped the spider logo, and the suit loosened. Westworth took his hands away to let it fall, leaving the teenager in just boxers. Before Peter could shyly wrap his arms around his torso, Westworth grabbed his waist, shuffling them toward the bed. Peter’s back hit the mattress. Hands grabbed the waistband of his underwear.

“No!” Peter protested, curling upright as his hands instinctively went to defend himself. Westworth caught his wrists, pushing them into just one of his hands even as the hero tried to struggle out of the grip.

“Peter,” Westworth warned. “Stop being difficult.” His free hand went to the boxers again, dragging them down the boy’s legs. Peter bit his lip as the cold air hit him, fighting his instincts not to cry out for help. A hand wrapped around his ‘special part’, causing him to flinch.

“Mr-“

“Shhh,” Westworth soothed, beginning to move his hand in small strokes. Peter fought for air. He didn’t like this. It was unfamiliar and callous and oversensitive. It all felt too invasive. His involuntary struggles just increased the friction, but he couldn’t stop moving. He needed to get out of there. He needed to move- not… not in that way. He needed to get away.

“ _ Please _ ,” Peter whispered, twisting his hands in Westworth’s grip. He tilted his hips down, but the hand followed, squeezing tighter in warning. Peter whined and tried to shift away, but Westworth just closed his hand further. A jolt of pain shot up his core, shocking a bit of fight back into the boy.

“Stop!” Peter cried, wrenching as best he could, even as it sent spasms of pain throughout his abdomen. He had to get out of there! This was too far. It hurt and his cock burned and every touch made him sicker. The hand finally released his cock, only to be replaced by a stinging slap on the stomach that made Peter’s knees reflexively curl up towards his chest. Westworth grabbed Peter’s thighs, pressing them against his torso.

“I  _ thought _ I told you not to resist,” Westworth snarled. Peter tensed as the man leaned further over him. “Unless you want everyone to know your secret…” Images of May, Ned, and MJ bleeding and dying flashed through Peter’s mind-- nightmares that he’d dreamt up just that morning-- and Mr. Stark rejecting him, not wanting to deal with such a fucked-up person.

“No! I just… please… don’t touch me. Please! I’ll do anything, I just-- it’s so sensitive and I-- I’m not ready to have anyone touch me there,” Peter pleaded between choked breaths. He barely even touched himself there, and he hadn’t more than imagined someone else doing it, so a fully grown man touching him was just… he couldn’t even find the words. Peter turned his head into the mattress, wishing it would just swallow him up-- take him away from there. Westworth considered him for a minute before his frown turned to a mischievous grin.

“Fine. But when we’re done, you’re gonna regret this. You’ll be  _ begging _ me to touch you,” All of a sudden, Mr. Westworth was gone and Peter was free, but he didn’t dare move. He’d gotten what he wanted, but something else was wrong. He lay there, trying to decipher what the warning meant. He could sense the teacher moving around to his left but was too afraid to look. Westworth’s hands grabbed Peter’s wrists again and dragged him further up the bed.

“What-“ Peter started, only to be shushed. His spider sense screamed at him, but he swallowed it down. It’d been warning him constantly since he arrived anyway. Westworth situated Peter so his arms were above his head.

“Don’t move,” Mr.Westworth ordered, and Peter could hear the warning in his voice. He was all too aware of the itchy rope being wrapped around his wrists as they were tied to the metal headboard, and his hypersensitivity whined when he tested the tightness. Westworth then grabbed his ankles, tying each one to a corner of the bed.

Peter clenched his eyes shut then, trying to hold back tears of fear and embarrassment. His arms were trapped above his head and his legs were splayed out, leaving his half-hard cock wide open. He didn’t even want to think about how pitiful he must’ve looked. Even as he heard Westworth rummaging through some drawers, the fear kept as his eyes shut. He tried to imagine he was somewhere else. With someone he actually liked. He’d tried to think of a way out-- even though he’d already come up with every possible solution. If he told the Avengers, Mr. Stark was sure to kill Mr. Westworth, and as much as Peter hated him, he didn’t want that line to be crossed. And if Peter could find the blackmail photos and delete them, he couldn’t guarantee that Westworth didn’t have a failsafe, and Peter’s identity was all too easy to confirm once someone became suspicious. Meanwhile, if they arrested Mr. Westworth, they couldn’t keep the man from whispering Peter’s name into the ears of fellow inmates. 

“Do you know what these are?” Westworth asked. Peter forced his eyes open to see the man holding a ring with a flat bulb attached to it and another bulbous blue silicon thing. Peter shook his head, and Westworth’s mouth wound up into a grin that made him feel sick. “You’ll find out.”

“Wha-“ Peter silenced when he felt the hand on his dick, his breath going up to his throat. “ _ Please _ … don’t touch me.” He choked out.

“I’ll stop in a second,” Westworth promised. He put the blue bulb into a condom and rolled it down over Peter’s cock. Peter scrunched his face at the unfamiliar texture. Then, the teacher slid the ring over the condom and down his shaft, the flat part resting against his balls.

When the flat part of the cock ring turned on, Peter flinched violently. It was… it was vibrating? Why would something do that? It was weird usage for something, Peter thought.., but then he felt the vibrations clawing their way up towards his stomach.

A nervous sound escaped from his throat, and Westworth hushed him. In a false act of kindness, the teacher ran his hand through Peter’s thick, brown curls. His other hand reached for something on the side table.

Peter yelped when the silicon bulb on the head of his dick started vibrating too, more insistent than the other. Too much, too much, too much! He keened, hips coming off the bed and crashing back down as he tried to escape the unwanted sensations.

“Stop,” Westworth put a firm hand on his pelvis, pushing him down into the mattress. Peter stopped thrashing, but his hips moved subtly. Peter bit his lip, trying not to make any more sounds. Mr.Westworth smiled.

“Good boy,” He murmured, leaning down to steal a kiss from the kid. Peter barely processed it, distracted by the conflicting feelings of his body. Westworth pulled away and sat in a chair next to the bed.

“Let me know when you want me to touch you again,” Westworth said conversationally. Peter knew that his dick was hardening. He could feel it, and his hips shifted, but Peter didn’t know if he was looking for more or less of the intense shaking. His cock burned and itched, and he didn’t know what to do. Not that it mattered. He didn’t have a say.

Sensations coiled up within him, and with them, the worry that he was going to orgasm. He didn’t want to. Not with Westworth watching-- not ever. He could barely even touch himself at home because his enhanced senses made him too sensitive, so this? It was a searing pain ever so slowly morphing into pleasure. His hips twitched on their own now, and he couldn’t stop thrusting up into the air, much to Westworth’s amusement. Peter closed his eyes when he heard him chuckle.

He knew his orgasm was coming, even if it was a death sentence. Almost there… almost… Nothing. Nothing came. Peter whimpered when he didn’t come. Instead, the high-strung tension of an orgasm hung around, refusing to leave.

“Can’t do that while the ring’s on, kiddo,” Westworth laughed. Peter cringed at the use of Mr.Stark’s nickname, but he couldn’t focus on it for long. The vibrators kept going, and he thought they might even be going faster then. All forms of pleasure were gone already, and Peter struggled uselessly on the bed. It  _ hurt _ . He couldn’t come and he felt like his cock is going to burst. What if it did? Peter whined, back arching off the bed again as he searched for something to tip him over the edge- to beat the device.

Mr.Westworth just watched, relishing the entire view of the boy. Sweat dripped down his skin, allowing it to glisten as his muscles contracted and loosened repeatedly. His stomach rose and fell rapidly as the vibrators took their effect on his body. As curls stuck to his wet forehead, Mr.Westworth grinned. Peter was beautiful.

“Do you regret what you said earlier?” Westworth taunted, palming himself through his jeans. Peter shook his head defiantly. No. He knew what this was. He didn’t want the man’s grubby hands on him again.

But it hurt. Agony surrounded him, and tears streamed out of his eyes. He needed relief. It hurt. It hurt! A choked sob escaped from the teenager, and Westworth stood up, capturing the sound with a gross-tasting kiss. Peter was trapped by hands cupping his jaw.

“You need to beg,” Westworth whispered against Peter’s face. Peter whimpered and shook his head again. He could feel the need burning inside of him. He was overwhelmed with the waves of input from every sense, and he just wanted it to be over. His breath lodged in his throat when another wave of pain hit him. Fuck! No, no!

“Okay,” His voice came out weak and broken.

“Okay what?” Westworth urged. “God, you’re so naive, Parker.” He nibbled on his chin, and Peter felt disgusting.

“Touch me,” Peter whined, feeling the regret even as the words leave his lips. Westworth grinned wickedly and pulled a hand away from the boy’s face. He placed his hand on Peter’s abdomen, tracing it with touches so light that Peter wouldn’t have noticed it if not for his hypersensitivity.

“Tell me--,” Westworth paused, pulling his hand away teasingly. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.” Peter’s lip quivered. He didn’t want to-- but it hurt and he couldn’t take it any longer. Another wave of pain shot up his body when the teacher flicked his abs.

“Turn them off.  _ Please _ . Then you can-- you can jerk me off,” Peter panted. Westworth just resumed stroking his abs at the same slow pace as before.

“You have to beg, Pete,” He reached down further and flicked his cock this time, causing the boy to wince. Then, he returned to that same  _ agonizing _ teasing.

“I- I can’t.”

“That’s okay. I can wait,” Westworth huffed knowingly. Peter tossed his head back and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Everything hurt. He needed it to  _ end _ . It was gonna happen anyway. He needed to just get it over with… just… just say it.

“Please. It hurts! Take it off, Please. I- I can’t….” The words spilled out of Peter as he finally gave in. “You can touch me. Just make it stop. Please, sir! It hurts.”

“Hmm,” Westworth considered it. “Tell me you love me, and you’ll do whatever I want.”

“I love you! I’ll do whatever you want!” Peter cried. “ _ Please _ .”

Westworth finally gave in, reaching down between Peter's legs. Peter sagged in relief when the cock ring stopped vibrating, but the bulb on the head of his cock didn’t. Westworth grabbed his balls roughly, rolling them over in his fingers. Peter inhaled sharply. No! He did what Westworth wanted! Why was he still doing this?

“ _ Please! _ Sir!” Peter lurched in the restraints, but Westworth’s hand splayed across his ribs, pressing him back down to the bed until he stopped fighting. Westworth sighed, jerking him off with one hand while the other slid the cock ring up to the tip of his cock. It only took a few more movements of the man’s calloused hand before Peter came. He arched off the bed, convulsing. It was such an explosive relief that it felt like an eternity before he finally bubbled back into awareness to find Mr.Westworth kissing him aggressively while he rubbed the teenager’s now bare and flaccid cock.

Peter made a noise of protest in his throat, and to his relief, the man pulled away. He cut his ankles free first, but when Westworth released his wrists, Peter barely moved. He was too spent, and that’s why he barely protested when the man crawled right onto the bed with him. He didn’t have the energy to shove him off as the man whispered praise into his ear. Westworth grabbed his waist, pulling him backwards into a spooning position. Peter just let his eyes shut for a moment among the soreness and exhaustion, searching for the willpower to brush his teacher off.

When he opened them again, he heard Mr.Westworth snoring, and he felt the man’s hand loosely gripping his dick. He glanced at the clock. 2am?! Jesus. If May was waiting up for him…

He carefully (but as quickly as possible) slipped out of Westworth’s grip, and to his relief, the man didn’t wake up. Peter stared dumbfounded at the dent where he’d just been. How could he fall asleep here? It wasn’t safe! He shouldn’t have felt comfortable enough to do that. What the fuck was wrong with him?! He shoved the thoughts from his mind and silently pulled on his suit. He needed to leave.

On his way out though, Peter heard a clink in the kitchen and stopped short. He didn’t expect to see the girl from the other day standing there with a dark bottle in hand. Peter’s enhanced senses easily smelled the sharp sting of alcohol. He found himself moving forward before he could stop himself, and the girl instinctively backed up until she hit the cabinet.

“Why don’t you say anything?!” Peter whispered. There was no way in hell she didn’t know about this. She averted her gaze and took a swig of the drink.

“You should go,” The girl whispered back. Her hair was disheveled, as if she’d just woken up, and her cheeks had signs of dried tears. They both had that in common.

“How can you do nothing?” Peter pushed. He couldn’t say anything, but her… if she reported it, Westworth couldn’t blame Peter. She sighed, setting the bottle down on the counter just a little too hard.

“It’s you or me,” She explained. “Or my sister.” She added the second part quietly, and Peter stared at her. He understood what people would go through to protect the ones they love, but this wasn’t--  _ Fuck _ , isn’t that what he was doing now?

“Oh. But… couldn’t it be none of us?” Peter asked. There had to be a way out-- a solution of sorts, but… how long had this even been going on? How long was she (or had she been) abused for? He had so many questions.

“No,” The girl snapped quickly. “We can’t go into foster care.”

“Your mom?”

“Dead.”

“It would still be better,” Peter tried.

“You don’t know that. I’ve heard stories. I can’t take that risk.”

“But how do you let this go on?”

“They might separate my sister and I. I need to keep her safe. If it’s not someone else, my father will get bored with me. He’ll move on to her,” The girl looked him straight in the eye, and Peter clenched the mask in his hand a little tighter, frustrated by how trapped he felt.

“Have there…. Have there been others?” He asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. She shrugged.

“The last one committed suicide.”

“What?!” Peter asked, horrified. She didn’t explain further, opting to take another swig of alcohol. Peter was about to ask another question when his phone buzzed with a call from Aunt May. Damn Parker luck.. “Ugh. I have to go. We’re not finished here.” He left the house as quietly as possible and answered the phone.

“Hey May… Yeah... I know, sorry… Something came up… I’ll be home in 15,” Peter promised. She sounded upset, and Peter knew that when one of them freaked out, they both freaked out. He climbed through his window soon after to find May waiting in his room.

“You didn’t come back. You’re usually back by 1. I was texting you, but you weren’t responding! And you seemed kinda off today, so I got worried that maybe something happened and--,” May explained frantically.

“I’m okay,” Spider-Man cut in, stepping closer to May and grabbing her hand. He squeezed it, meaning to calm her down, but his mind flashed back to earlier, when Westworth had squeezed his wrists as he pinned them to the bed. Peter let go of his aunt. “I’m sorry. I had to… deal with a bad guy for a while. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

May forced herself to take a deep breath and wrapped her arms around Peter. If May noticed him flinch, she didn’t say anything. She reached up to pull his mask off, and Peter was grateful that only his desk lamp was on. May shouldn’t be able to notice any tear tracks.

“You look exhausted.”

“I know. I am. I’m going to shower and go to bed. You should sleep too, May,” Peter urged. He used that as an excuse to escape the suffocating hug. She nodded and ran a hand through her hair.

“Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry. Talk in the morning?”

“Yeah,” As soon as the door to May’s room closed, Peter rushed straight to the bathroom and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet. It was only another moment before he vomited. He sat there for a while, waiting to see if he’d do it again. He wished he could just throw up the feelings and be done with them, but his body wouldn’t give him the relief.  _ Just like his teacher wouldn’t give him any relief earlier. _

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Peter mumbled, wiping his mouth with his hand. He stripped and took another half-hour, searing hot shower. Eventually, he just sat down as if it were a bath. His dick was red and it ached, but he was too afraid to touch it. The voices in his head didn’t pressure him to anyway, and he finally climbed out of the shower and into bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the top for updated tags. This chapter involves more toys, too many orgasms, and milking. Tags are "milking... anal fingering".

“Peter, we’re gonna be late for Chem,” Ned nudged Peter, and he only got a grumble in response. Peter continued to stare down at his plate. Ned frowned, sneaking a glance at the mashed potatoes that Peter were stirring around. He hadn’t seen his friend finish even half his food today, even though he was normally scraping the plate clean.

“You’ve been acting weird. What’s up?” Michelle crossed her arms and leaned onto the table. Peter jolted.

“Nothing. I’m good,” Peter said quickly— perhaps too quickly. MJ narrowed her eyes. Peter averted his gaze, reaching for his backpack. His fingers were sweaty as they grasped the strap, but he got up before they could ask him any more questions. Ned had to scramble to catch up with Peter as he dropped his tray at the dish return. Peter hesitated by the cafeteria door, only moving when Ned walked past him.

“Dude, you sure you’re good?”

“Yeah, Ned,” Peter huffed. He gripped his backpack straps tightly, thumbs rubbing the inside to dispel anxious energy.

“But you haven’t been eating or talking as much,” Ned persisted.

“Drop it, Ned!” Peter snapped. Ned actually flinched, and Peter immediately felt guilty. He tried to cover it up. “I’m sorry… I’m just… I’m okay, I promise. I’ve just been busy lately.”

When he reached the doorway, Mr.Westworth looked up from his desk and smiled. Peter felt his blood run cold. He forced himself forward, one foot in front of another, and he nearly collapsed with relief when he reached his table. Ned eyed his friend suspiciously but said nothing as he plopped down next to him.

When Mr.Westworth started lecturing, Peter wasn’t even listening-- not that he ever did. He had taught himself so much chemistry that anything the school did, he already knew. Still, he didn’t sketch in his notebook like he normally did. He just bit the back of his pencil and bounced his leg under the table.

Peter was thinking hard. He tried to brainstorm ways out of the situation… but every time he tried… he just… couldn’t. There were too many variables… too many problems. If he told the police, a whole host of things could go wrong. Westworth could escape and release the photos. Even if he didn’t escape, he could tell everyone in jail, and Peter knew that once someone became suspicious of him, it wouldn’t be hard for them to confirm he was Spider-Man. He learned that the hard way with Toomes. He’d have to give up superheroing for a while, but that would be a confirmation in itself. In the scenario that a cop shot the teacher during an arrest, there was still the problem of his daughters.

Peter didn’t know what he would’ve done without Ben and May when his parents died, and he had helped enough kids on the street to know that the daughter’s concerns about the foster system were warranted. He couldn’t damn them to that world. Even if he asked Mr.Stark to make sure they were placed with a good foster family, he couldn’t know for sure that they would be and that they would be safe. And that was if they went along with it. They could testify in their father’s favor, making it a war of words.

Dear god… the trial that would ensue. No matter how good their lawyers were, they wouldn’t be able to keep the whole process confidential. It would come out. Flash would have a field day about how Peter Parker let himself be blackmailed and raped by a teacher. Everyone at school would look at him differently. Even Ned and MJ. They would look at him like he was weak. He could already imagine their looks of pity. They’d be ashamed to be friends with someone so weak. Peter slouched down further in his chair.

He snuck a glance at Mr.Westworth and quickly dropped his gaze. His eyes fell on the watch Mr.Stark gave him. He couldn’t tell Mr.Stark either. He’d be so ashamed. Ashamed that an Avenger would let this happen to them. Ashamed that he could be so dumb with a multi-million dollar suit designed just for him. Hell, he’d probably be ashamed he ever took Peter under his wing to begin with.

Also, Mr. Stark would probably kill the man. As much as Peter hated Mr. Westworth… he didn’t want him dead. He dIdn’t want anyone dead, to be honest, no matter how bad they were. He knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to talk Tony down if he found out. He’d kill Westworth and then probably cut himself off from Peter. So he was stuck. There were no good options. Nothing he could do except suck it up and take it. For how long though? How long could he take it? How long could it go on? The girl said that he got bored with her. Would he ever get bored with Peter? Or would Peter end up killing himself like the last kid? Peter shuddered at the thought. How many kids had there even been?

The bell rang, scaring Peter out of his own skin. Ned looked at him worriedly. Peter could feel Westworth looking at him as he packed up his stuff. Peter was on his feet now, hurrying out of the room.

“Parker,” Westworth called, and Peter reflexively turned around from the doorway. “Don’t forget to do that assignment tonight.” Peter turned red.

“Okay,” He squeaked. Once Ned caught up to Peter, who was speedwalking to class, he tapped Peter on the shoulder. Peter flinched.

“What was that?” Ned asked.

“What?”

“I don’t know… that,” He furrowed his eyebrows. “What assignment?”

“I… uh..,” Peter searched for an answer. “I forgot to do one of our worksheets last week.” Ned eyed him. Peter rarely forgot to do his work.

“Okay… Text me if you need anything, got it?” Ned held out his hand, and they went through their usual handshake routine. A couple hours later, in their next class together, Ned noted that Peter looked a little calmer, so he left him be.

* * *

There were three sounds in the room: Mr.Westworth’s heavy breathing, Peter’s pained sobs, and the quiet whirs and clicking of the milking machine. His whole body ached, and his cock was especially painful. He had already orgasmed six times, and after the third one, each successive orgasm hurt more and more.

“ _ Please _ . Shut it off!” Peter cried. He passed the point of not begging a few orgasms back. Westworth was sitting naked on his chest, weight crushing the boy’s ribs as he savored the rapid rise and fall of Peter’s chest.

“I can’t do that, Pete. With your enhanced metabolism… well… you could say we have a duty to science to test just how many times you can cum, dontcha think? You understand science,” Westworth teased. He licked his finger, rubbing the cold saliva around Peter’s nipple, and the teenager groaned. His senses were through the roof, dialed to 17 instead of 11, and everything was buzzing. The only clear thing was the flow of signals of  _ Pain Pain PAIN _ from his dick.

“I must say, your refractory time is  _ quite  _ impressive. You’d give sluts a run for their money,” Westworth laughed at his own joke, and Peter clenched his eyes shut tightly. The mixture of his teenage hormones, lack of experience, and healing factor meant that Peter's orgasms came quickly, easily, and often. Westworth had gotten intrigued after Peter came twice in just a few minutes, and from then on out, he'd adopted this 'mission'.

“Please!”

“Please what? You want another one?” Before Peter could protest, the man reached behind him, grabbing his balls and rolling them in his palm. Another orgasm ripped out of Peter’s body, and this one felt like glass as it spurted out of him. He cried out, writhing under Westworth, and the man moaned with pleasure. Peter thought he was going to be sick.

“It hurts. Sir, please!” Peter whined, praying that the formal title will get him somewhere. Westworth shifted, and for one blissful moment, Peter thought he’d be set free. He was wrong. The man just shimmied down his body, and Peter could feel his ass pressing against his cock being relentlessly harvested.

“No. But I can distract you,” Westworth sneered. He kissed Peter roughly. When Peter whimpered in protest, he tilted his head, moving to chew at his chin. Peter shifted his head up and away, unwittingly giving his teacher access to his neck. Westworth bit his neck, but thought better of it before he left a hickey there.

He bit and sucked hickies around his chest. They were below his collarbone so he could hide them with a shirt, but the sheer amount of them above his ribs was enough to stimulate his nipples. Westworth, of course, didn’t neglect those either. His teeth clamped down on the boy’s left nipple, and he tugged and licked it simultaneously. Peter yelped as another orgasm tore out of him. Tears streamed out of his eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore. Please. Please.  _ Please _ ,” Peter begged. Westworth licked his finger again, rubbing around the swollen nipple with a gentle finger. However, he then flicked it, causing Peter to jolt. The man ground against his abs, licking all around and leaving trails of saliva on the teenager’s chest. Peter tried to buck him off, but Westworth growled.

“You’re mine, Peter. You do what I tell you to,” A hand wrapped around his throat, and Peter flinched. He shook his head in denial, but Westworth started choking him. “It’s not an option, Parker.”

Peter held on for as long as he can, but as he started to pass out, he caved. He nodded his head, and when the hand loosened, he gulped in oxygen. It was only then that Peter became aware of the ache in his shoulders. He must’ve pulled on them during his panic. Westworth looked down and frowned. Peter hadn’t had an orgasm in a couple minutes.

“You’re getting slower, Parker,” He criticized.”Do I need to speed you up?”

Peter shook his head again, but Westworth promptly ignored him. Westworth shifted off of him to an extent, reaching for that cursed sidetable drawer. Not again! What was it this time?

Peter craned his head to see a black, penis-shaped object in his teacher’s hand. Did he-- did he want him to suck it? The man moved off of him, and Peter savored the room to breathe. Even if he was still being tortured, at least his lungs weren’t being crushed anymore. The bed dipped between his legs, and Peter lifted his head to see Mr.Westworth kneeling there. The tip of the dildo pressed against his butthole.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait, wait!” Peter panicked, and he tried to move, but he was still tied down tightly like he was last night. To his relief, Mr.Westworth did actually pull away.

“What? I can use some lube if you’d like,” He offered casually. Peter whimpered. Words of protest pressed against his lips, but he couldn’t force them out. No one had ever tried to put anything there. He couldn’t even… he never even thought of doing… no… There was no point in fighting. He has no control. None. At the lack of response, Westworth sighed and grabbed a bottle from the drawer.

“I’ll do the extra step. Just for you,” Westworth cooed, as if he was doing Peter a favor by raping him a little less violently. “You need to appreciate what I’m doing for you, though.”

“Come on, Petey,” Westworth ran a gentle hand down his side, and the touch felt like fire to the oversensitive teenager. He arced away from him. “I care about you. I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to, but you need to appreciate that. What do you say?”

Peter shook his head. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say thanks to someone raping him. The hand on his side closed, gripping him tightly. He whimpered. “T-thanks.”

The pop of the bottle opening rang in his head, and Peter jolted when he felt the cold gel around his asshole. It quickly turned warm, giving him a tingly feeling. It made him even more sensitive, as if his powers weren’t enough. It meant that when Westworth started to push a finger into his ass, the feeling was unbearable. Peter spasmed at the intrusion, and he choked on his own sob before he could beg the man to stop.

His back arched as Westworth worked him open. The man was definitely not taking his time, and before Peter knew it, there were four fingers tearing a burning sensation in his ass. He knew he should be getting looser, but he was healing too fast for it to work well. He wanted to feel relieved when the fingers pulled out, but he knew it was only because something else was coming. When he felt the tip of the slicked-up dildo, he couldn’t stop himself.

“No!” The word tumbled out of his mouth. Westworth froze, and Peter swallowed hard. The man left the dildo near his ass and moved up the bed.

“What was that?” He growled, grabbing the teenager’s chin roughly. Peter bit his lip. He wasn’t supposed to protest. Saying ‘wait’ was one thing, but he wasn’t allowed to say ‘no’. He knew that.

“Answer me,” Westworth demanded. Peter stared up at him, not sure what to do. Would Westworth be angrier if he lied or if he said ‘no’ again? He sucked in whatever air he could.

“No,” He repeated, knowing that the statement was confirming his own death. Westworth released his chin and went to a drawer.

“We can do this the hard way then,” He huffed, reappearing with a long, thick piece of cloth with a knot in the middle. “As much as I like to hear your noises… we’ll need this for a moment. We do have neighbors.”

Peter was confused as the man forced his mouth open, shoved the knot in, and used the rest of the cloth to secure it around his head. His heart pounded against his ribcage as Mr.Westworth returned to between his legs. He sent the kid a knowing smirk.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” Westworth gripped the dildo tightly and flicked the vibrations on. The only reason Peter knew this was because he could hear it, and to a certain extent, feel it as Westworth’s left hand gripped his hip tightly. He didn’t understand why he was gagged when the teacher seemed perfectly happy to hear his cries before.

And then he did. Mr.Westworth shoved the whole dildo in with one violent thrust, and Peter screeched into the gag, convulsing on the bed as he was split in two. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. The vibrations just made it worse, making the dildo feel impossibly big. How did it even fit?

Tears streamed out of Peter’s eyes as he keened and sobbed into the gag. He thought he might’ve come again, but he didn’t even know. He was too overwhelmed by the shaking that coursed through his entire body in time with the device. Westworth moved the dildo in and out roughly, making his entire body rock. Peter tossed his head back, actually grateful that the gag was muting his shouts of pain.

Westworth grabbed the base of the dildo, wriggling it around and rotating it. Peter squirmed, and suddenly, it felt like he’d been shocked. White-hot pleasure shot through his body, and he yelped in surprise. The yelp turned into a moan when he came again, arching up into the suction cup. Westworth gave him a shit-faced grin. He’d found the right spot.

The teacher upped the vibrations and held the dildo there. Peter was struggling for dear life, but it just caused the dildo to rub against that spot, and Westworth pushed more forcibly against it. He refused to relent until the boy came again. Peter was gasping as Westworth then thrust it in and out roughly, sending a shock of pleasure on every push in. He writhed on the bed, trying to focus on the pleasure instead of pain as Westworth tore more orgasms from him.

Suddenly, as if he fell off a cliff, Peter was drifting. All his senses faded away, and all that he could focus on was the ceiling. He was dissociating, wasn’t he? He’d heard of this. Peter’s body relaxed in sweet, sweet relief. That was nice. At least, it was. He felt his body contract again, and a hand came down on his chest, ripping him back to the present.

“We’re at twelve. Don’t go out on me now, Parker. You need to stay with me. Count,” Westworth ordered. Peter breathed heavily when the man reached up and released the gag, letting it fall to put a gentle pressure on his neck. He pushed the dildo against his prostate again, and Peter came once more. “How many?”

Peter didn’t respond, trying to just breathe. He couldn’t breathe right. He was trying, but it was hard. Westworth pushed it harder against the oversensitive nub in frustration. “Count!”

“Th-Thirteen,” Peter choked out, and he sagged when the pressure decreased a bit. Thank god. It was a long time before the next one. Peter was in so much pain that it felt like an hour before he came again, but in reality, it was just two minutes. Nothing even came out anymore when he orgasmed. It was just a full body spasm and a scratching feeling inside his balls as they tried to push out nonexistent cum.

“How many?” Westworth insisted. It took a few tries for Peter to get it out.

“Fourteen,” Peter sobbed, writhing on the bed. It felt like much longer before he felt himself rising again, and Westworth seemed to be impatient. He upped the vibrations again and twisted the knob on a remote all the way up. It hurt so much that Peter couldn’t even scream when the milking machine intensified. He’d thought they were already at the top setting. It moved on its own, rapidly bouncing up and down on his dark red cock. He felt his body twisting up in knots again, and he swallowed back another wave of nausea. There was nowhere to go for getting sick, and he’d end up choking to death. Although at this point, he’d welcome that. The orgasm exploded out of him, and Peter barely felt his body flinch before he blacked out.

Waking up was like emerging from a cold lake. His first action was a desperate breath of air, and he distantly remembered that the gag was gone. He blinked a couple times, and the rest of his senses snapped into focus. He could still feel the vibrating dildo inside of him, but the suction machine was no longer on him. It was just Mr.Westworth, twisting the boy’s cock round in his hand. Peter whimpered at the stinging pain from the contact, and he tried to push his hips farther into the bed.

“You were out for a good 10 minutes there. Had me worried,” Westworth commented. Peter clenched his eyes shut. Why would this madman care about him? Was he some sort of ‘special edition’ student?

“Let go. Please,” Peter croaked, and his voice was hoarse from all the screaming. Westworth just raised his eyebrows and gripped him tighter, pushing his hand down towards his pelvis. Peter winced. Asking was a proven bad idea. He was too exhausted to fight, so he just sunk into bed, painfully waiting for the next orgasm to be stolen from him. After a long time, nothing had happened, and Peter initially just thought it was his delirious state, but Westworth had apparently noticed too.

“I can’t get you past half hard,” He scoffed, speeding up his hand on the boy’s cock to a pace that made him keen. Peter’s breath caught in his throat, but he knew he wasn’t coming again. The pain was too much to beat the pleasure this time. After another minute, Westworth spontaneously pulled away, and Peter shuddered in relief.

“Fifteen. Not bad for a start. I’m sure we can beat it though,” Westworth mused. Peter enjoyed the freedom for a minute, savoring how his dick throbbed for once instead of just hurting. But then Westworth was back, and he held some sort of connected silicon rings. The smaller ring seemed like the one from the night before, but it was looser. There was essentially no pressure around his dick. Peter groaned in discomfort as Westworth pulled his balls through the larger ring. Though the bands were stretchy and somewhat loose, they weren’t going to fall off on their own either, and Peter could feel something cylindrical being suspended between his cock and balls.

“Now listen carefully,” Westworth said calmly, as he reached to untie his slave. “You don’t take that off, got it?”

“Mm” Peter made a sound, but even he didn’t know if it was affirmative or negative. Westworth was down to the last knot on the first restraint when he remembered the vibrating dildo and took it out.

“If you take it off, and I  _ will _ know if you do,” Westworth’s voice dropped down to a deeper, more dangerous level. “You will  _ not _ like the result. Am I clear?”

Peter’s chest rose and fell with a heavy breath, and tears welled up in his eyes now that he finally recovered the energy he needed to cry. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let this man’s touch be on him around the clock. But Mr.Westworth grabbed his chin roughly, forcing Peter to look at him.

“Am I clear? I know you can speak, boy!” Westworth snarled, squeezing his face a bit. It hurt, and Peter was sound exhausted that he found himself agreeing. He tried to nod into the grip. “Say it.”

“It’s clear,” Peter choked out-- really choked. His voice felt and sounded like sandpaper. No one would understand him if they heard him now, so quiet and broken and hoarse, but it was enough to satisfy Westworth.

“Those are rather loose, but you’re no fun if you lose your dick. Call me if you’re hard for more than four hours,” Westworth told him. Again, Peter was astonished that Westworth actually had some inkling if care for his wellbeing. He finished untying him.

“We’re done for today. Get out of here,” Westworth ordered. Peter jolted in relief at the words, but when he immediately tried to stand, everything swirled, and he found himself leaning on Mr.Westworth. The man supported him with a left arm for Peter to hold onto, and the right arm was over his shoulder and behind the back, keeping him close.

When Peter’s legs finally didn’t feel like Jelly, Peter pushed away. He grabbed his suit and yanked it on. The fabric of the suit rubbed uncomfortably wherever it touched. He was so overloaded from tonight. He didn’t see the girl as he stumbled out the door; and as soon as the cool night air hit his body, and Westworth couldn’t hear, he had Karen dull his senses as much as possible. It was still too much, but it would have to do. It’d get him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add some disclaimers that came from my research. What Westworth puts on at the end of the chapter is not a traditional cock ring. Those should not be worn for more than 20 minutes or so. It's simply a looser set of rings meant to hold a certain something in place for later. It shouldn't restrict blood flow, because wearing a ring that constricts blood flow for too long is a help risk. More clarification on this to come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only added tags for this chapter are "in public" and "oral sex". It also has some minor orgasm denial and a couple of non-sex scenes.

Peter’s leg bounced under the table again as he took his chemistry test. He snuck glances at Mr. Westworth often, making sure he hadn’t moved. Peter was too anxious. He was struggling to focus on his exam, but he just couldn’t. There were too many noises. The scratch of pencils, the rustling of pages. He was still overstimulated from last night. He glanced at Westworth again, but their eyes met, so Peter quickly returned to writing gibberish on his paper.

His leg bounced faster, so fast that it took him more than a few moments to realize that his thigh wasn’t the only thing shaking. He froze his leg, staying stock still. The cock rings were  _ vibrating _ . More specifically, the blub between the rings that Peter hadn’t thought was more than a connector. What was with Mr. Westworth and all the vibrators? Was this kind of stimulation the norm for sex?

Peter looked up at Westworth, but the man just casually smiled at him and resumed work on his laptop, as if nothing was astray. Peter tried his best to focus. He really did. But the buzzing was slowly, ever so slowly making him hard, and he shifted uncomfortably. The vibrator sped up, and Peter could feel it everywhere that the rings touched, and then some. He could hear the quiet buzz, but he was in a hushed classroom, and his hearing was enhanced. Could anyone else hear it? He looked to Ned beside him, but Ned didn’t seem concerned. Ok. Okay, good. He was okay. For now.

The speed stayed the same, but it didn’t keep his body from building up, working itself into a sweat. He wanted to take his sweatshirt off, but he purposely chose a longer sweatshirt today in case something like this were to happen. It wasn’t worth the risk of someone seeing. Peter clenched his eyes shut for a moment, fighting not to squirm too much. He couldn’t help making a small noise in his throat, but to his relief, it went unnoticed. Peter was invisible. No one ever seemed to see him. He could feel how hard he is when he puts his legs together, and the oversensitive dick ached still, but to a certain extent, he was relieved he didn’t think he could come. That wasn’t something he’d be able to hide.

He forced his eyes open again, looking down at his test. CO2… right. Carbon dioxide. What was he supposed to do with that? He skimmed the question again, but it didn’t make sense. He didn’t know how many times he read the words before the school bell rang, startling Peter for the 5th time that day. He hadn’t finished the back half of the test…

Peter quickly closed the test so Ned wouldn’t notice, and he got up, shouldering his bag. His balance felt off when he stood, and he did his best to walk normally. After a few steps, he was able to ignore the ache, and he trusted his sweatshirt to cover the bulge. There was a growing pile of tests at the front of the room, and Peter slammed his test down a little too hard. He was almost out the door when he was stopped again.

“Peter, hang around for a second. We need to talk about that makeup work,” Westworth said, and it was so suave and sincere that students believe him, and Ned waved as he abandoned Peter. It was Westworth’s planning period, so no new kids came in. As soon as the door was shut, Westworth rounded on Peter.

Peter’s eyes widened, and his back hit the whiteboard adjacent to the door. Westworth put his forearm against the boy’s collarbone to keep him there, and his other hand roughly grabbed Peter’s crotch through his pants. He squeezed, and Peter groaned.

“Having fun, Parker?”

“No.” It earned him a slap to the face. Peter’s breath lodged in his throat, and for a brief fleeting moment, he hoped someone would rescue him, but he knew no one would. His back was to the same wall as the door, and the doors lock automatically. No one could see them, and no one could enter without a key or Mr.Westworth letting them.

“Do I need to remind you of what’s at stake here, Spider-Man?” He whispered the last part, leaning in. Due to the massive height difference, he ended up kissing Peter’s forehead, and Peter tried to lean away, but you can’t move walls.

“No,” Peter whimpered, trying to give the lips an excuse to leave him. It worked, and he got a brief moment of respite before the hand on his crotch began to rub around in circles.

“You’re pretty hard there, Pete. I didn’t even have to touch you,” Westworth teased. “Does just seeing me get you hard now?” He pushed a little harder, and Peter turned his head away in embarrassment. Westworth scoffed and released him all at once. Peter gasped in relief.

“Get out of here, kid. Wouldn’t want you to be late to class. See ya tonight,” Westworth stepped back, allowing Peter to scurry out. The bell rang as he reached the safety of the hallway. He was going to be late to math no matter what he did, so he ducked into the nearest bathroom.

The stall door slammed shut behind him, and Peter leaned back against the wall, trying to quell the nausea shoving his insides around. In and out. Just breathe in and out. Peter shut his eyes, but he was too dizzy, and his body threatened to tip over. Peter’s eyes opened, and he grabbed the handicap bar to steady himself. This day was going to be hell.

* * *

“Peter!” A voice called. Peter turned around from where he’d been high-tailing it home. He was planning to crash on his bed until he had to get up to deal with the rest of the evening. MJ was standing at the top of the staircase, arms crossed.

“Forgetting something?” She asked. Peter tilted his head in confusion. Michelle rolled her eyes. “We have to finish the project from Friday. You said we’d do it today.”

“Oh,” Peter did remember and started back toward her. “Sorry. I’m a bit scatterbrained.”

“I know,” Michelle said. Once he got to the top of the stairs, Michelle started back toward the school courtyard. “It’s nice out, so we can study here.”

Peter nodded. He was perfectly happy to study with Michelle, and he should be excited, but he was so exhausted. Still, he couldn’t let on that anything was wrong. He sat down at one of the picnic tables and pulled out his psychology work as Michelle did the same. Peter had to wriggle around a bit to find a comfortable position.

A few minutes later, they were engrossed in their work, filling out a worksheet applying one of their recent psychology units to a case study they’d been assigned. Other students had other studies, and they were supposed to share them tomorrow. Michelle and Peter worked together pretty efficiently, so their teacher didn’t object when they asked to pair up. They were already a third of the way done.

“Do you think this part here is more of a representative or an availability heuristic?” Michelle pointed to a note in the study on her paper. Peter leaned over to look at it. He thought for a moment.

“I’d say representative for that,” Peter hummed.

“Yeah, that sounds right. I just wasn’t sure,” Michelle wrote it in on their worksheet with neat handwriting that starkly contrasted Peter’s more scrawly font. It was a little windy out, so the consistent breezes masked the way that hairs on Peter’s neck rose. He was in the middle of writing a word when his vibrator started to shake. His hand fudged the letter in surprise. Peter looked at MJ, who hadn’t seemed to notice. He erased and re-wrote the word before setting his pencil down. This time, MJ looked at him.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, just a hand cramp,” Peter said, forcing a smile while the little vibrations climbed up his pelvis.

“Right,” Michelle said slowly. She watched him for a moment, but she eventually turned back to their papers. Peter relaxed his face and looked around the courtyard. The chemistry classroom didn’t face the courtyard, but he  _ had _ to be watching them. He had to be somewhere. He really doubted that the device had that large of a range that Westworth could turn it on from anywhere. Not on a teacher’s salary. Although he supposed it was possible that with the shit that Mr. Westworth already did, more illegal activity wouldn’t be too far of a jump.

“Peter,” MJ called his name a bit louder.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you drew out that flow chart we need,” Michelle said.

“Oh. Yeah,” Peter reached for his notebook, but his hands were sweating now, so he had to wipe them on his jeans before he flipped through to find it. Michelle eyed him.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“Nothing,” Peter lied, even as his dick twitched pointedly, as if it were trying to tell him off.

“You barely spoke at lunch today or yesterday, and Ned said you were acting weird in class, too,” Michelle pressed. “Not that I’m like stalking you or anything, but I-”

“You pay attention to the small things, I know,” Peter cut her off. She raised her eyebrows.

“You can feed me all the bullshit you want, but you’re sweating bullets right now,” MJ pointed out. “You’re not the best liar.”

“I’m just cold,” Peter lied again. He  _ was _ sweating, and he knew it, but his body was just heating up as part of a reaction that he didn’t want, and he wasn’t about to give in to it. He’d rather burn alive, even if that seemed more likely with every passing moment and every palpitation of the bullet lodged between his cock and balls.

Michelle put her hand over his, startling Peter slightly, and she pressed her other hand to her forehead. When she did this, the vibrator accelerated to full power, because  _ damn _ , he had to be watching them. Peter shuddered at the onslaught of sensation, not sure if he wanted to lean away from MJ or press closer. He pulled away a moment later. He didn’t want her getting tangled in this. He didn’t want to accidentally associate her touch to  _ him _ . She especially couldn’t know what was happening to him. It was totally uncool.

“You’re burning up,” Michelle murmured with surprising softness. Peter felt himself melting a little. He wanted to borough into her. He wanted to tell her or at least someone what was happening to him and how powerless he was to stop it. He looked away before his eyes welled up. The fact that he couldn’t say anything just added to the pain of all of it.

“Sorry. I- I’m just a little burnt out, that’s all,” Peter mumbled. “I can focus on the work, I promise.” He picked up his pencil with determination, hovering over the sentence he’d been writing before. He didn’t add to it in the next few moments.

“You seem like you’re sick,” MJ pointed out. Peter frowned. He was sick. Sick for letting all this happen to him. “Go home and take a nap. I’ll do what I can on this, and you can send me your part later.”

“No,” Peter protested. “That’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to do more work just because I’m… out of it.” He struggled for the right words.

“I know you’d do the same if I couldn’t focus. You’ll make it up to me somehow,” MJ said, and Peter felt bad for lying with how sincere and confident in him she sounded. She shouldn’t be. He didn’t deserve her trust. He literally lied to her multiple times in the last few minutes. His cock throbbed, reminding him of the matter at hand. He bit his lip.

“Are you sure?” Peter asked.

“Yes,” Michelle started to pack up her stuff to go home. “I’m sure. Let’s split, and you can text me when you’re feeling a bit better. Take some Tylenol or something.”

Peter loaded his bag up as well, and when he stood up, Michelle reached to give him a hug. She gave surprisingly good hugs, but Peter panicked a bit. He accepted the hug, but left some extra distance between them, particularly angling his hips back in fear that she would feel some of what was going on down there. Michelle gave him a weird look as she separated, and he could see a question forming on her lips.

“Thanks, MJ. You’re the best. I’ll text you,” Peter backed away quickly, trotting down the stairs despite how much the friction made him ache for release. But no, he wouldn’t touch himself. He wouldn’t let himself have even one more orgasm than what Mr. Westworth forced him to. He wouldn’t give that bastard the satisfaction.

* * *

Both males were surprised when Peter showed up early and in civvies that night. Peter felt sick that he would do such a thing, but Mr. Westworth just gave him a wry smile as he let the teenager in. He knew the way to the bedroom by now, and he walked ahead to make sure Westworth didn’t get the pleasure of touching him any longer than necessary. Peter wanted to be done for the night and out of here. When Peter got into the room, he felt the vibrator wake up again, buzzing against his sore cock at a low level. He was already getting hard after practically edging the whole day, and it only made things worse that Mr. Westworth teasingly waved the black remote where Peter could see it. He tossed it on the bed.

Westworth closed the door behind them and looked at Peter expectantly. Peter felt his chest tighten, but he obediently stripped down to nothing. Mr. Westworth approached, and Peter waited with baited breath. He fell back onto the bed with Westworth’s usual shove.

“Your cock is looking quite sore there,” Westworth teased, poking at it. Peter’s sensitivity was through the roof, so even that mere touch caused him to jolt. He groaned, and before he could squirm away, Westworth grabbed onto him. One hand gripped his dick, and the other held his hip to keep him still. Westworth started jerking him off, and Peter groaned again, closing his eyes.

He was so hard that the movements felt like they were scratching his skin. His dick was too dry, and the man could feel too how the skin stuck more than it should as he moved his hand up and down. Peter heard shifting, but the hand was still twisting around him, so he ignored it. That was, until he felt warm breath on his tip.

Peter opened his eyes and tried to protest, but Westworth was already putting his mouth around him, fitting the top of his head inside his mouth. The teenager jolted again and shifted his hips up out of pure instinct. He immediately felt guilty, and he could  _ feel _ Westworth’s bemused chuckle that he had Peter wrapped around his finger.

Peter turned red, fighting to keep still, as if it made a difference. Westworth took him in deeper, engulfing his cock and licking around. It was unlike anything Peter had ever felt before, and a moan escaped before he could stop it. Mr. Westworth pulled off immediately, giving him a shit-faced grin.

“You enjoying yourself, Parker?”

“No,” Pete lied through grit teeth. Westworth massaged his balls, and a whine caught in Peter’s throat. Westworth raised his eyebrows, reaching around him. He upped the settings on the vibrating cock rings, and Peter winced. He was too sensitive. He didn’t even think about it really- He just reached for the remote himself, intending to turn it off. A big hand caught his wrist.

“Not so fast. You’re not getting off that easy,” Westworth warned. Peter twisted his wrist to get free, and Westworth let him go. However, he grabbed Peter under the armpits, standing the teenager up and switching them so that Westworth was now closer to the bed. Peter stared at him, but the teacher just rolled his eyes and pushed down. Peter’s knees hit the carpet. His cock bounced at the sudden movement, and Peter felt it throbbing. He forgot to think again and reached for it. Mr. Westworth caught his forearms again, lifting them up above Peter’s head.

“Aw, does someone need to be jerked off to come?” Westworth teased. Peter turned away in embarrassment. “Well, you can come when I say so. Otherwise… well, I’m sure you can imagine some sort of punishment for yourself. Do you want me to edge you all night for not listening?”

“No,” Peter answered, his voice barely audible. He wanted to get this over with and leave. He wanted to have this cursed contraption off of his cock. Mr. Westworth grabbed the remote and lowered the vibrations to a more comfortable level-- low enough that they wouldn’t be able to pull Peter off alone.

“If you want to come, you just have to do one thing,” Westworth explained, and Peter waited uneasily for him to continue. “You need to bring me off using just your mouth.”

Peter breathed shakily. No- no he couldn’t. That was too proactive on his part. He was letting the man touch  _ him _ , but he wasn’t going to voluntarily touch Westworth. That wasn’t what he signed up for-- no, it was. He agreed to this. All of this. It was his fault. Westworth was watching him, waiting for an answer, and heavy throbbing from Peter’s dick pushed him toward the answer that would be inevitable anyway. Slowly, he leaned forward.

“Good boy,” Westworth cooed. The praise made Peter feel sick, and he managed not to wince when Westworth grabbed the sides of his head, pulling him closer. The man spread his legs, hooking one calf behind Peter’s back and nudging him to get between them. Peter’s hands instinctively went to the thighs of Westworth’s jeans. The jeans that his cock was still in.

“I- I can’t..,” He looked at the belt pointedly before his eyes rose to meet Westworth’s. He was lost; looking for advice like the sad, broken hero that he was. The man looked amused.

“So undo it,” Westworth urged. Peter reached for the belt with his hands, but Westworth smacked the top of one. “I said no hands!”

“But-“

“Use your mouth,” He cut off. Peter returned his hands to the man’s thighs, leaning forward with trepidation. His forehead rested against Westworth’s stomach as he grappled with the top of the belt, trying to get his teeth around it. He managed to grip the leather and pull. It took several tries, but he finally got the top strap off. Now the buckle?

The buckle took a bit more effort, and he felt like he’d pulled the leather in a dozen directions before the small piece of metal escaped its hole. He shivered, knowing what was coming next.

Westworth whispered praise down at him as he worked to get the rest of the belt open and out of the way. It was so, so hard. And he’d be tasting leather for weeks. Peter mentally promised to be more appreciative of jeans, as the button did  _ not _ want to come undone. Westworth almost reached down to help him when Peter finally got it undone.

“There we go,” Westworth approved. Peter clenched his eyes shut. He couldn’t breathe, and he hadn’t even touched anything yet. The problem was that his enhanced nose could smell the arousal, and Peter  _ hated _ it. Still, he used his tongue to get the zipper into his mouth, and he slowly dragged it down. He tried to move the boxers with his teeth, but it wasn’t quite working. The back of the boxers must’ve been holding them up.

“Lick it through my boxers, and I’ll help you with the last bit,” Westworth offered. His voice was a little deeper than before- muskier. Peter took a deep breath, dipping his head once again. He could feel the bulge through the boxers. Hell, he could  _ see _ it. He hesitantly set his open mouth over the bulge.

Westworth moaned, and a hand behind Peter’s head pulled him in closer. For a long moment, Peter was still, just breathing it in and hoping his hot breath was enough. It wasn’t. Westworth applied slight pressure to the back of his head, reeling him in. Peter swallowed, and it seemed to take a century for his tongue to stretch out and lick a stripe up the bulge. Westworth made a small sound of pleasure, and Peter wanted to dart as far away as possible.

“You can do better, Parker,” Westworth scolded. He tightened his grip in Peter’s hair until it hurt. It was a silent threat. Peter wanted the pain to go away, so he tried not to think about what he was doing. He licked up and down, side to side. He could feel the wetness of the underwear increase under his mouth, and he could feel the bulge more strongly. Westworth groaned and finally pulled him back by releasing some pressure on his hair. Westworth reached between them with his other hand and pulled his cock out of his pants. It’s bigger than Peter expected… and hairy too.

“C’mon now,” Westworth urged, snapping Peter out of a daze he didn’t even realize he was in. When the teenager didn’t move, Westworth pulled his head forward by the grip in his hair. Peter instinctively leaned back into the hand, away from the cock. Westworth was stronger, but when his tip rubbed against Peter’s lips, he quickly turned his head to the side to avoid it.

“ _ Peter! _ ” The snap was sharp enough that it made both of them stop, and Peter swallowed nervously. “Stop dicking around. Suck my cock, or you won’t come for a fucking week. And don’t you dare bite me!” Peter shivered at the threat, and he didn’t fight as hard when he was pulled forward again.

His lips touched the tip of Westworth’s cock, and the man guided himself in with one hand and Peter around with the other. The tip pushed up against his teeth, but a yank to the hair forced Peter’s jaw open, and Westworth pushed in. Peter nearly gagged. It was so salty and… and he didn’t know how to describe it. It was just disgusting, and he couldn’t stand it.

Westworth squeezed his hair again pointedly, and Peter began to lick and suck his cock. He did his best not to think about it. He couldn’t. He might’ve made himself sick if he did. To his relief, Westworth soon got impatient and took over, gripping Peter’s head tightly as he thrust in and out rapidly. Peter felt the quiver on his tongue before it even happened, and Westworth arched up into him.

Warm liquid filled Peter’s mouth, and he tried to pull away, but he couldn’t. Westworth had nearly stopped, just moving in and out slowly as he pumped his cock through his orgasm.

“Swallow it,” Westworth ordered. His face was flushed with post-orgasmic relief, and his eyes were glossed over, but he was still coherent. He wouldn’t let go of Peter’s hair. Tears slipped from the teenager’s eyes, and he just held the cum in his mouth. It tasted disgusting.

“Peter… swallow,” The man’s voice was softer, but one hand came off of his hair, pinching his nose instead. Peter couldn’t breathe after a few moments. He held out as long as he could, at least more than a minute, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. Not when Westworth was still thrusting in and out impatiently. He swallowed. It took a  _ few _ swallows for all of the sperm to make its way down his throat, and Westworth didn’t pull out until he was sure Peter had gotten all of it. He finally pushed Peter away.

Peter fell onto his hands and knees, coughing. It was disgusting-- so disgusting that he wished to be sick again-- for the acid to cleanse him of the poison. He was struggling to breathe, so he barely registered that Westworth had gotten up. The vibrations went to their top setting again, and Peter just whimpered quietly. Westworth wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist, and Peter distantly felt himself being lifted. Westworth pulled the boy into his lap, making him sit bridal style across his thighs

“You did good, Parker,” Westworth cooed. “I promised.” He took the cock ring off, and he began to jerk Peter off with the wetness leftover from his own blowjob. It took less than a minute before Peter was cumming too. His back arched with the force of it, but Peter didn’t feel anything but a sense of relief. He was outside of his own body right then.

Westworth sat beside him, stroking his hair until he came back to focusing on the room. “Good boy. Do you want a reward?”

Peter didn’t respond, staring up at the ceiling.

“You’ve been so good lately, and I’m so proud at how you’ve been learning the rules, so I’m giving you a present. You don’t have to wear the vibrating ring tomorrow. Just a normal one. Does that sound good?” Westworth said, as if he was being  _ so _ generous. “Well?”

Peter’s throat was too dry to speak, so he just nodded, but Westworth tightened a hand in his hair, looking at him expectancy. “Yes, please,” Peter croaked. He felt the rush of helplessness come over him as the new cock ring did.

“Okay. I’ll let it go for you. My perfect little boy,” He patted Peter’s cheek before standing up and fixing his pants. “Show yourself out. If you want.” He left Peter alone in the room, and Peter didn’t know how long he laid there until he got up. He experimentally touched himself, and he hissed in pain. Swinging home was going to hurt.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More sex XD I am so sorry. I promise our boy gets a break in the next chapter. New tags for this chapter are loss of virginity (if you didn't already consider it lost), first time, and while it isn't technically a tag, a brief incestual kiss.

“Hey sweetie,” May gave him a big smile when he came into the kitchen to grab his morning snack.

“Hey,” Peter replied automatically. He grabbed his water bottle and filled it up from the fridge, but he could feel aunt may still watching him. “What?”

“Tony texted me last night. He said you haven’t been by the lab all week even though he keeps asking.” May explained. Peter tensed.

“I know….. I’m just…. I’m busy with school right now.”

“But I know how much you love that stuff. You’ve been kinda down lately. Go over to the tower today. Even if you just do homework there. It might be helpful,” May pushed.

“Can’t,” Peter said quickly. “I have a thing. Maybe sometime this weekend.” He didn’t want to be caught. He didn’t want to deal with it, so he forced his way through the rest of the conversation and rushed out the door, trying not to think about the secret hiding in his pants.

* * *

Ned had shown an article to Peter at lunch about lack o f Spider-Man sightings that week, pressing Peter about what was going on. Mr. Westworth had left his vibrator on for lunch today, that was what. Peter shrugged and met Michelle’s eyes, his face red. “Michelle was right. I have a bit of a fever. I’ll try to get out a bit tonight.”

Peter and Michelle did their presentation (luckily without any sexual interventions), and then Peter dipped out of school early, taking a nap before going on patrol. He made sure to get in the way of some news cameras and snapchats that would find their way to twitter. Spider-Man finally stopped on a rooftop one block over from Mr. Westworth’s house. He laid on his back, staring at the sky as it turned to dusk. He was exhausted. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep in days, and his body was overloaded and sore all over. He didn’t want to do this.

After some time, Peter’s phone buzzed. He had a text from Mr. Stark.

_ Are you sure it’s just school in the way? I can come down and go on patrol with you if you want, _ His mentor offered.

_ Yeah. It’s just classwork. Michelle said I seemed a bit sick, and I feel it. I’ll get over it _ , Peter lied.

_ Your suit shows your health as being just fine _ , Tony responded. Peter checked the time. It was about 7. He left the text unread and discreetly swung down to the porch of Mr. Westworth’s house. However, tonight, it was the girl who opened the door. Peter blinked in confusion, but she waved him inside before anyone saw Spider-Man standing at their door.

“Dad had to run to the store,” She said at the look on his face. “He’ll be back in a bit.” She turned away from him and returned to the couch, where some tv show was playing. Peter stood awkwardly for a moment before moving after her. He took off his mask so he could see her naturally. She was taller than the average girl, but she was probably still short in comparison to her hulking father. Her hair was a lighter brown, but Peter couldn’t tell how long it was, as it was pulled up into a messy bun. Her eyes were a light brown. Again, lighter than her father’s. She must’ve had more of her mother’s genes.

“I never got your name..,” He said quietly.

“Maisie,” She didn’t look at him, just keeping her eyes trained on the tv, but Peter knew she wasn’t really watching.  _ Maisie _ . He repeated the name in his head so he wouldn’t forget it. He tentatively sat down on the couch. Maisie eyed him and shifted slightly, moving further from him.

“That conversation from the other night-“

“Drop it,” Maisie snapped. Her voice was level and sounded the same, but Peter could still hear the warning in her voice. “There’s nothing else to say.”

“But-“

“No.”

“Look, there has to be some way out. I- I know people. I can get us some help…”

“There’s no way out,” Maisie hissed. “Do you think I haven’t tried everything yet? You’re stuck here because of blackmail, and I’m stuck here because I want to keep my sister safe. That’s all there is to it. All you can do is play mind games with yourself to dissociate. You can’t stop it. Stop giving yourself false hope.”

Peter bit his lip and leaned back into the cushions to try and calm himself. She wasn’t  _ exactly _ wrong. He could tell the Avengers, but they probably would think of him as weak. And Tony might kill Westworth, which he didn’t want. He frowned, trying to brainstorm again, but nothing came. He could work on dissociating like she said.

He jumped a little when the door lock jiggled. Westworth walked in with a few bags of groceries.

“Oh good. You’re here,” Westworth said. He put the bags on the coffee table. “Put those away, will ya Maisie?” She nodded, getting up obediently. Westworth smiled at Peter mischievously. As Maisie passed her father, he grabbed her waist, pulling her in for a kiss. Maisie flinched at first, but did nothing to push him off as Westworth drew a long, deep kiss from her. When he let her go, she averted Peter’s gaze, hurrying into the kitchen.

“Just in case you thought I wasn’t in control here,” Westworth said, winking at Peter. “Let’s go,” Westworth commanded. Peter peeled himself off the couch and trudged after him. They got to the same room as always, and Peter watched as he locks the door once again- as if Peter were going to run away. They both knew he wouldn’t. Westworth took a deep sigh. “Give me a couple minutes. It’s been a rough day.”

Peter stood, waiting for more instructions. Westworth scowled at him. “I didn’t say not to get undressed.” Spider-Man hurried to comply. He was sort of getting used to being exposed, but something was different tonight. Something in the way Westworth looked at him.

“Alright,” He finally said, slapping his thighs and standing up off the bed. “Lay yourself down. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Peter laid on the bed like normal, and when Westworth returned, his jacket was gone as well as his shoes. He took some sort of pill from the drawer and downed it with water he brought in. Peter resented that he yearned for some water already.

Peter was all caught up in his head, not really processing much at the current moment. Maisie was right. There was no way out. He might as well accept it. He scowled to himself at the thought. No, he was never going to  _ accept _ this, even if he couldn’t escape it, even if he was imagining a thousand flawed ways out as he laid there. He barely noticed Westworth was over him until the man was kissing him.

Peter made a small sound of surprise, but it was muffled. Westworth was completely naked, and he was hovering on top of Peter, his knees and hands keeping their stomachs from touching. Peter’s hand instinctively moved to push him away, but Westworth caught his wrist and pushed it back into the mattress. He squeezed the relatively tiny bone between his large fingers as a warning for Peter to open up a bit more and accept the kiss. Peter clenched his eyes shut, trying his best to kiss back until the pressure lessened. He breathed a sigh of relief into Westworth’s mouth, but he wasn’t content. Not that he ever was, but something was different. They were too intimate. Maybe it was that this is the first time Westworth has been nude through all this, but his spider-sense seemed to be saying something else tonight.

“What’s the plan?” Peter asked, pushing his head back into the mattress so he could get away enough to ask.

“Who said you could ask?” Westworth chased after him, forcing the makeout session to continue. His other hand grabbed Peter’s free wrist, just in case. Peter didn't want to be there, but he was learning. He took Maisie’s advice. He imagined himself somewhere else, maybe with someone else, although he can’t come up with who. He tried to think of some actress who he found attractive, but he never really thought of anyone that way. His mind was wandering, so he supposed it was working to an extent. That is, until he felt a finger pushing at his asshole. He didn’t even realize Westworth had let go of his arm

“Wait,” Peter gasped out of the kiss. He reached down with his arm, but Westworth was faster, and he caught his wrist again. It only took a moment for him to reposition the young man under him, pinning both wrists above his head with a single, giant hand. The other one returned to his ass, rubbing circles around the hole before teasingly dipping in.

Peter squirmed under the man, but Westworth just kissed and gripped him harder. He began to push in on Peter’s hole, but it just increased the struggling. A slap resounded in the room, along with a muffled cry of pain from Peter as pain radiated from where he was spanked. He got the message.  _ Don’t make it worse than it has to be. It’s probably just for some sex toys. _

Peter strained every muscle in his body in his attempts to keep still as Westworth slowly pushed the finger into him. Peter whimpered at the intrusive feeling, even though he’s had it before. The toys were room temperature, but the fingers were almost cold inside of him, and Mr. Westworth wasn’t even using lube yet. Peter  _ hated _ it. Westworth continued to push in and out with his finger, opening the kid up against his will.

Peter shut his eyes and tried to imagine himself somewhere else. He imagined himself on patrol, stopping crimes. Dodge left. Now punch right. Web that guy to the pole. He tried this the other night, and it was working for a little bit. Peter didn’t notice the throbbing pain until Westworth was forcing a third finger into him (Did Peter miss two, or did Westworth skip it?). He decided for his sanity that his trick worked and it was the former. A small groan escaped, and Westworth dug a little deeper, feeling around for the spot that he’d almost memorized by now.

Peter flinched when the rough fingers stimulated his prostate, and he made a sound that had Westworth doing it again. It made Peter looser for Westworth while his cock hardened. Westworth took the chance to squeeze his fourth finger in with a bit of lube, and Peter squirmed until a hand wrapped around his dick warningly. He tried to keep his own hips pressed to the bed, but it was hard, and he tried to deflect the pain, pressing his fingernails into his palms hard enough to draw blood where they were trapped under Westworth’s hand. After another few minutes, Westworth pulled his hand out of his ass, and Peter could feel his muscles clenching in confusion against the cold air. His face turned red.

Westworth released Peter, going to the toy drawer. Peter didn’t follow him with his eyes. It didn’t matter. He just stared up at the ceiling. Westworth reappeared and grabbed one wrist, hooking a steel but well-padded cuff around it. Peter looked at him in confusion. Why the change from rope?

“What? I’m not a complete asshole. Bruises on your wrists are hard to hide,” Westworth said. “Besides, this is for your own good, so you don’t cause any trouble.” Did Westworth expect Peter to put up more of a fight than usual? What was he planning? He pulled Peter up the bed a little, looping the other cuff through the headboard before attaching it to his other wrist. Peter pulled at them slightly, and they seemed sturdy, but the extra slack of having handcuffs over rope meant that he had less leverage. He wanted to ask why, but he was too afraid.

“Okay,” Westworth mumbled to himself, climbing onto the bed with Peter, who was watching him carefully. Westworth pushed Peter’s leg aside so he could get between his legs, and he grabbed the teen’s calves, pushing his knees up towards his chest. It clicked in Peter’s head.

He burst out struggling, trying to escape. Peter lurched to the side, and he got his hips a little further away, but Westworth just grabbed them and pulled them back. “ _ Hey! _ ” He growled warningly.

Peter didn’t listen. He’s panicking because no.  _ No! _ He let this go too far and he needed to get out of here or else Westworth would- he was gonna-. Peter whined and twisted in the tight grip of his hips. Toys were one thing, but this felt like something entirely different. He took his foot and pushed his heel as hard as he could into Westworth’s stomach. Any normal person wouldn’t have had much impact from that angle, but Peter wasn’t any normal person. Westworth fell backward, down to the floor, and he was no longer holding onto Peter.

Realizing what he’d done, Peter knew he had to go  _ now _ . He tried to sit up, but his hands stopped him. He grit his teeth and tried to pull them apart. It didn’t work. Westworth was getting back up. The cuffs were surprisingly strong, but so was he, and he was running out of time. He clenched his eyes shut, pulling at the cuffs.  _ Come on, come on _ . He was panicking and he couldn’t even breathe now, and he felt a hand on his jaw. Peter jolted and he pushed his hands back towards the headboard before he pulled. He yanked his hands forward as hard and fast as he could, snapping both the chain  _ and _ breaking one of the poles of the headboard.

He opened his eyes again to hit Westworth, but there was a hand around his throat, squeezing tightly. Peter hit his arm with his hand, but Westworth was crouching over him now, so Peter’s feet couldn’t get to him.. Peter wrapped his hand around the wrist of the arm choking him, trying to get it off. He was hyperventilating before, so now he was losing oxygen rapidly. He tried to claw at Westworth with his free hand, but the man’s arms were longer, and he couldn’t reach his face. Westworth’s other hand caught the flailing wrist, squeezing tightly and pulling it up so that Peter’s arm was stuck in an outstretched position.

“Stop!” Westworth yelled, squeezing his throat tighter. Peter didn’t- not at first, at least. He was thrashing like a feral animal, but oxygen was swimming at the edges of his vision, and he was going to pass out. He wouldn’t be able to break the grip in time. He knew he wouldn’t. Being awake was better than not knowing what happened. Maybe. Just as his eyes refused to stay open, Peter stopped struggling, and he double tapped on Westworth’s wrist. Westworth loosened his grip, but kept his hand there as a threat. Peter erupted in a series of coughs and heaves, begging for the oxygen to come back to him. Westworth waited a moment to see if Peter would resume struggling once he got his breath back.

“Are we done?” He snarled. He gave a brief, threatening squeeze to Peter’s throat, and Peter whimpered almost inaudibly. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, he was exhausted. He was so tired. He couldn’t… he can’t fight. He wouldn’t win like this. Peter clenched his eyes shut harder.

“Mmhmm,” He hummed reluctantly.

“Good,” Westworth said. He waited another moment before moving again. His hand stayed on Peter’s neck, but he slid his body off the edge of his bed, back to the drawer.

“I was being nice with the padded cuffs but now that those are broken… well… you did this to yourself,” Westworth shrugged. Peter opened his eyes for a brief second and saw the non-padded steel cuffs. They were thicker, and so was the chain. Westworth put a knee on Peter’s chest, pushing the air out of him so that he can use both hands to recuff the boy’s wrists to another part of the headboard.

“ _ Now _ ,” Westworth murmured. “We could’ve done this the nice way, with more lube than what I already used and a smooth condom, but you didn’t seem to want that, so I guess I’ll just drill some manners into your brain, shall I?” Peter didn’t struggle this time. Even if he thought about it, so did Westworth, because his left hand was now resting around Peter’s neck, reminding him what could happen if he didn’t cooperate. Westworth’s right hand lined him up.

Peter felt the warmth, and he whimpered, but it was ignored. He couldn’t help but twitch his hips away, into the bed, and his windpipes got a firm warning. Peter focused on breathing, but when the tip first started to push in, he couldn't help but pull at the cuffs- the motion wasn’t hard enough to break them anyway. He groaned, starting to struggle, but Westworth’s guiding hand was now free to grab his dick and pull on it to keep him still.

It burned, even with all the fingers before, and the pain was all that Peter could think about. When Westworth made it past the first ring of muscle, a choked cry escaped from Peter’s throat.

“There we go,” Westworth cooed. He rocked his hips, getting a little deeper with each thrust, pushing his ass open whether the vigilante wanted it or not. It felt like he was being impaled over and over again, but Peter didn’t cry. He wouldn’t let himself. Even when Westworth gripped his side and pushed deeper, it only earned pained sounds from the boy’s throat. “There’s a reason I only buy toys that are smaller than me,” Westworth chuckled.

Peter began thinking, which was a bad idea. He started thinking about the implications of this. If he hadn’t lost his virginity already, he certainly was now. No, he hadn’t lost it. It was being stolen, and he couldn’t escape. He let this man take away something that could never be gotten back, and Peter’s face burned with embarrassment at his failure. He was disappointed in himself, and he bet Tony and May would be too. He was glad they didn’t know. They might panic and ground him, or risk the situation and break Westworth’s deal and put them all in danger.

But he didn’t know if he could hide this much longer, and it was terrifying him. He couldn’t help a subtle squirm, and Westworth decided that it was an invitation. He rocked his hips more insistently, and Peter bit his lip at the burning stretch of his ass. Maybe it was his enhanced healing, but nothing seemed to be getting any looser like he thought it was supposed to.

Westworth pulled his hips up so he could shove deeper, and Peter could feel the balls against his ass. He groaned. He shifted only briefly before remembering not to. Westworth arced out of him and then back in, making sure he stayed open. It was a slow and steady pace, but it drove Peter crazy, forcing his body to heat up against his will.

“P-please,” Peter stuttered out. He didn’t even know what he was asking for. He just wanted the pain to stop. Westworth grinned devilishly.

“What? Please pull out? Untie you? Fuck you harder? You look like you need it-“ He flicked Peter’s cock, still wrapped in the cock and ball vibrator, and the teenager hissed in pain. Westworth made his own decision.

Keeping the steady pace, he twisted and squeezed Peter’s cock, earning a pained whimper. Westworth pushed Peter’s knees closer to his chest, adjusting his own position in order to thrust harder. He hit the prostate on the next thrust, and Peter yelped, looking for something to grab onto, but finding nothing. Westworth focused his energy there, making sure to hit his prostate with each thrust. Peter groaned, turning his head into the pillow and closing his eyes tightly. Mr. Westworth put his hand on his cheek, shoving him further into the pillow.

It was building Peter up, and he knew he couldn’t stop what was coming. He almost wished Westworth would hurt him-- it would make him feel less guilty later. However, despite how hard his thrusts are, they don’t  _ hurt _ . Westworth moved a hand back to Peter’s cock, squeezing and stroking it. The teenager squirmed as he felt the unwanted pleasure.

“Come for me,” Westworth said quietly, and Peter knew it was an order, but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He couldn’t- not when he’s- another thrust to his prostate, this time with a little more force in warning. Peter shook his head defiantly, but Westworth just squeezed his dick again, keeping that same, gratifying pace.

It felt far out at first, but Peter knew he couldn’t avoid the impending orgasm. The steady pace was just pushing him nearer and nearer to the edge, and he couldn’t give Westworth the satisfaction of-  _ Fuck _ ! Peter tensed, and a second later he was squeezing down on Westworth’s cock a lot harder, white fluid spurting from his dick. It was obviously what Westworth was waiting for, because soon after, Peter felt a wetness filling his ass, and he didn’t even have to question what it was. Westworth continued to pump in and out as he came, a long groan escaping with his load.

He finally slowed to a stop, but he was still inside of Peter. He stroked a hand across Peter’s cheek. “See? That’s not so bad, is it? You even enjoyed it, didn’t you?” Peter didn’t respond, just bit his lip and refused to look at him. He shifted his wrists, making the chains rattle. 

“You can lie all you want, but your body is telling me it  _ loved _ it,” Westworth teased.

“You’ll come to love it… in due time,” He grabbed the key from the side table, unlocking his bottom’s wrists. Peter rubbed them, but he didn’t try to move. Westworth was still inside him.

“A-are we done? Can I go?” Peter asked, voice barely a whisper. “Please, sir?” He added, hoping the extra ‘sir’ would give him some leeway. Westworth gave him a small smile, but Peter couldn’t discern the meaning.

“Yes. You’ve been a good boy. In fact, I think you’ve been  _ such _ a good boy, that I won’t make you wear the ring tomorrow,” Westworth cooed. Peter stayed stock still. “What do you say?”

“Thank you sir,” Peter said quickly. He felt his cock throb in relief as Westworth pulled the rings off, and Westworth slowly pulled out of him, dripping cum on the bed. Peter waited until the man had stood up to cautiously roll onto his side, reaching for his clothes.

“See you tomorrow,” Westworth grinned once he had gotten dressed. Peter pulled his mask down over his face to avoid responding, getting out of the house so he didn’t have to answer. He swung home, and May seemed glad that he was home early tonight.

“You seem kinda out of it, so I thought maybe we could watch a movie. You can pick it,” May smiled warmly. Peter felt a pang of guilt. She really had no idea, did she? He supposed that was a good thing.

“I- um, I have to study,” Peter said, blushing. May frowned.

“Oh. Yeah, that’s fine. School comes first. Good- good values, I like that,” May said. Peter could feel that she was disappointed.

“This weekend, maybe?” Peter tried to salvage the situation.

“Yeah, it’s a date,” May gave another small smile. Peter forced a smile back and nodded. The word ‘date’ rung around in his head.

“Ok. I’m gonna take a shower and then do some work,” Peter said, stepping around her, careful not to accidentally touch her.

“You’ve been taking long showers lately,” May pointed out. Peter paled.

“Oh. Is the water bill too high? I can-”

“No, no. It’s fine. It was just an observation,” May answered quickly. “I take long showers when I’m stressed. Just, let me know if you ever need to talk about anything, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Peter promised.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes. A chapter without smut. How strange. By the way, I know i was updating daily for almost a week. Then I had to go out of town for a week with very slow internet and no lpatop. I plan to finish up within a few days. Trigger warnings for this chapter are just discussion around the non-con themes that the story deals with.

When Peter woke up in the morning and reached for his phone, his face fell. There was bruising around his wrist. He propped himself up on one elbow, rotating his hand. The bruising wasn’t a connected circle, but it was a yellowish color around where the cuffs had been and where Mr. Westworth’s fingers had dug into his wrists. Peter checked his other arm and found the same. He groaned and laid back down for a moment. It looked like he was going to have to wear a sweatshirt today.

When Peter got up to change, he noticed something else in the mirror. There were matching bruises on his neck. Not on the front; where it would be easily visible, but simply a line on either side of his neck where the man’s fingers gripped his throat. Okay, now it was going to be a hooded sweatshirt.

Peter felt a bit of tenderness in his wrists when the cuffs of his sweatshirt slid into place, but he tried to ignore it. He grabbed his homework (which had barely been touched) and stuffed it into his bag. Peter slid it onto his shoulders and joined May in the kitchen.

“Good morning Sweetie,” May said. Peter ducked around her to grab a pop-tart. “Did you get all your work done last night?”

Peter paused in pulling a drink out of the fridge. He hadn’t done any work, really. He’d taken his long shower, rinsing as many times as he could to get as much of Westworth out of him as he could. Then, he just laid in bed, mulling every piece of his week over and over in his mind until he couldn’t take it more and passed out.

“Yeah. I got it done,” He lied. He felt guilty as soon as the words left his lips.

“Good,” May smiled. “I hope you feel better about it.”

“Mmhmm,” Peter hummed. There was an awkward silence as Peter waited for the toaster to give his pop-tart back.

“You uh..,” May started quietly. Peter looked up at her. “You seem a little stressed lately. I know I don’t have any experience with all the superhero stuff, but you can still talk to me.”

“Yeah,” Peter said softly. “I know.”

The toaster finished, and Peter jumped at the sudden sound. May gave him a sad look.

“That’s my cue. ‘M gonna go,” Peter used the adrenaline from being spooked by the toaster to grab his bag and move quickly. He backed toward the door. “Love you. Bye!”

“Love you too. Have a good—“ May stopped as the door closed. She sighed, gripping the counter. May opened her phone, where the grade alert email from the school was still showing. She dialed a number and held the phone to her ear.

* * *

Peter left his chemistry class, walking alongside Ned. They’d been doing a lab today, so Peter was able to mostly focus on Ned instead of Mr. Westworth. That was, except for the fact that every time Mr. Westworth passed by, he seemed to ‘accidentally’ brush against or bump into Peter. He’d barely even left the class when his phone buzzed.

 _Faculty meeting tonight. Not much time for you to come over. Sorry,_ The text from a random number read. Peter thought he knew, but he had Karen verify it anyway. Westworth. Peter clutched the phone more tightly in his hand. Of course the asshole knew earlier. He just wanted to watch Peter squirm in class. And why the hell would Peter be sorry? He was glad, if anything. He didn’t respond to the message.

 _What do you say?_ Westworth texted him. Peter just stared at the screen. He wasn’t going to give Westworth any satisfaction.

 _I can always make you come later,_ came the next text.

 _Thank you_ , Peter’s fingers flew across the keyboard in a panic.

_You’re welcome :)_

Peter scoffed and tucked his phone into the pocket of his hoodie. Ned was still on his own phone when they got to the junction where they had to split.

“Catch you later?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” Ned looked up and gave him a fist bump. He hadn’t missed how exhausted his friend looked though, even if Peter said he was fine. He’d been acting dull and not talking as much. “Get some rest or something though.”

* * *

Tony set his cell phone down on the counter and looked at it as if it would light up again. Pepper looked up from her coffee expectantly.

“What was that about?” Pepper had walked into the kitchen halfway through the phone call.

“That was May. Something’s up with Peter,” Tony answered. His brain was spinning, trying to think of possible reasons for what May had said. Maybe the kid was just a bit burnt out? That happened sometimes.

“Is he hurt?” Pepper asked.

“No, not that May knows of. She said he’s been withdrawn this week— distracted and jumpy too. A few other things showing that he’s stressed out, but he won’t tell her what.”

“Maybe something happened on a patrol that he doesn’t want to talk about,” Pepper suggested.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. Some things still spook him. Kid was pretty upset after we stopped a human trafficking operation a few months back,” Tony reminded. “He still did his work though. May got an email from this school this morning. He hasn’t turned a single assignment in this whole week, and apparently he failed a chemistry test.”

“Chemistry is his strong suit,” Pepper nodded. She’d learned that sometimes Tony could get lost in his head, and talking things out helped him. She tried to just nudge their conversations along when Tony was stuck on a problem.

“He had a 98 in the class. Got a 31 on the exam,” Tony said. He grabbed his cup of coffee. “I’m going to go up to the lab and check some logs— see if anything happened I should know about.”

Pepper stood up and kissed Tony’s cheek. He was already lost in thought, but it brought him back a bit. “You’ll figure it out, Tony.”

“Yeah,” He turned his head to kiss her on the lips briefly. He went up the elevator and sat down in the lab.

“Alright, Friday. Pull up all the reports you can find that mention Spider-Man. Compile a list of crime scenes he’s been at this week,” Tony said.

“Just a moment, sir,” Friday responded as she processed all the information. Tony took another sip of his coffee.

“Compared to 8 events this past Thursday, there was 1 sighting on Monday and 4 stopped crimes last night,” Friday finally said, pulling up a display with a summary of each encounter. Tony skimmed the descriptors. They all seemed to be normal. Mostly muggings or stalkings with a couple private residence robberies. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“It looks like he picked up last night,” Tony said. “Pull up a map of last night.” Four dots appeared on a projected map. Tony felt like he could put a line of best fit between them. They weren’t forming a straight line, but they seemed to all be headed northwest. Tony leaned back in his chair. So Peter hadn’t been that active as Spider-Man, and he wasn’t doing his work. What _was_ he doing then?

Tony thought for a moment. He knew he had access to more data, but he had agreed to respect Peter’s privacy and only access the baby monitor protocol in case of emergency. Tony frowned.

“Pull up a map of movements that Karen recorded,” Tony said. It added a series of lines to the map, color coded by sessions of use. As Tony had guessed, Peter’s track on Wednesday night went through the dots of the four crimes. What was weird though, was that the routes from each day seemed to all connect to one area on the border of Queens and Manhattan. Even weirder, the crimes stopped were all on the way to that location, not the way back.

Tony pinched that spot on the map and spread his fingers to zoom in. It was a residential area, so that diminished the chance that he was staking out some sort of criminal operation.

“Get me profiles of houses in a four block radius.” A myriad of faces popped up. “Look for criminal records other than traffic violations, mentions of Spider-Man, or any other link to Peter.”

Most of the faces vanished, and the ones that remained moved to the center. Tony looked at the 8 of them. One was a teenager who seemed to be a Spider-Man fan. Another was on probation for aggravated battery while under the influence of alcohol. Three had drug charges. The sixth profile made Tony stop.

The house was owned by one Micheal Westworth, a teacher at _Midtown High_ . He taught _chemistry_ \- the subject where Peter failed his exam. Maybe Peter was trying to get help? But why at the teacher’s house? That was unethical and both of them would know that.

“Pull up the full profile on him,” Tony said. Westworth was a widower with two daughters. Criminal records indicated no convictions, but a few visits from cops for noise complaints and one count of domestic disturbance. The coroner’s report marked the wife’s cause of death as a suspicious suicide due to signs of abuse. Tony’s stomach twisted with a new theory. This was Peter’s teacher. He was going there every night and taking the suit off for anywhere between 1-4 hours. When it came back online, there was heightened stress levels noted and Peter was heading back home.

Tony needed to talk to Peter. Soon.

* * *

 _I have some new nanotech you’re gonna help me test tonight_ , Tony’s text to Peter read. Peter blinked and started to text back that he needed to do some work tonight. He stopped and erased the message. He needed a break, to be honest. But he didn’t know if he could keep this from Tony. He wanted to be with Tony because Tony felt safe, but he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone, and he was too tired to trust his control.

 _After school, of course_ , Tony added. Peter sighed.

 _Okay_ , Peter responded. He wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t go back now. The rest of his classes were an unfocused blur as usual, and when the final bell rang, Peter walked to the front of the school to look for Happy. He tiredly skimmed the cars in the waiting lot, looking for happy’s usual black ride. He didn’t see it anywhere. Peter frowned and checked his phone. No messages.

Someone bumped into him on their way past, talking excitedly about something or another. Peter didn’t really care what. He leaned against the brick wall to wait. The buzz in the courtyard seemed a little louder than usual, but he’d tuned it out due to his lack of sleep. That was, until he heard his name being yelled over the crowd.

“Peter!” Mr. Stark called from where he leaned against his Lamborghini. Peter looked up in surprise. “I promise the lambo is more comfortable than the wall.”

Mr. Stark hadn’t ever picked him up from school before. Sometimes he’d grabbed him from home or some place on patrol to go upstate to the compound, but never school. No wonder there was so much excitement in the courtyard. Peter wondered what the change was for. He didn’t need help. Well, he did, but Mr. Stark didn’t know that.

“Coming?” Mr. Stark blindly signed an autograph on a notebook that was being held up to him. Tony never really minded the crowds, but he did want to get his kid home. Yeah, this was a change, but Peter liked to keep a low civilian profile, so he’d expected the kid to trot over by now. Something really was up with him, wasn’t there?

Peter finally moved forward, threading through the small crowd of excited students and slipping into the passenger seat. Tony got into the driver’s seat a moment later. He started the car and peeled away from the curb slowly, making sure to give the other students time to safely move out of the way. It was quiet for a moment when they finally got into the flow of traffic.

“You didn’t have to pick me up from school,” Peter said, gazing out the window. Truthfully, he was really grateful, and he already felt a bit better sitting next to Mr. Stark, but he was going to be hearing about this at school for at least a week.

“I gave Happy the day off, and I didn’t have anything better to do,” Tony explained with a shrug. He supposed he should make it seem less suspicious. “I figure that Flash kid can’t keep teasing you about pretending to know me when I literally pick you up from school, y’know? Is he still bugging you?”

“He’s been out of class for a couple days. He was bragging about his parents bringing him on a trip to Canada or something,” Peter shrugged. He was honestly relieved Flash wasn’t here this week. He was about to collapse as it was.

“Hmm,” Tony hummed. So bullying probably wasn’t the issue here…

“What?” Peter asked, giving Mr. Stark a surprisingly defensive look.

“Nothing,” Tony shook his head. “How’s school going?”

“It’s fine,” Peter shrugged. At least, he supposed it was. He hadn’t really been able to focus on his work this week, but he should have enough padding in his grades to get away with it. Tony wasn’t satisfied with the bland answer, but he wasn’t sure how to push either.

“Spider-Man stuff okay too?” Tony asked, sparing a glance over at him. Peter was still looking out the window.

“‘S okay.”

“No problems?” Tony pressed. Peter hesitated for a moment. No.

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” He replied. Mr. Stark seemed to accept the answer. Of course Tony knew things were out of the ordinary, but he didn’t want to tell Peter that he looked at some of Karen’s data unless absolutely necessary. He was really hoping the kid would come out with it on his own and that he wouldn’t need to go into the actual video logs.

“So what’s the new nanotech?” Peter asked, changing the subject. Tony raised his eyebrows but started an explanation of what he’d been working on for the past few days. Peter started off listening, but his mind wandered. Some part of his body felt off, maybe confused that he was breaking what had so quickly become his new normal. He was glad to be going to the tower, he really was, but some nagging part of him was telling him to go to his teacher’s house instead. It was hell, but he’d fallen into this routine to try and keep what little sanity he had left. Peter just nodded along as Tony spoke through his ideas, occasionally throwing in the occasional ‘yeah’ to make it seem like he was actually processing what Tony was saying.

Tony was still speaking when they got to the lab, and the reminder of what he’d been analyzing earlier snapped him out of it. He stopped speaking and looked at Peter, who looked back up at him, albeit a bit blankly. What was the last thing Peter had said? Tony cleared his throat.

“I still need to set a few things up. Why don’t you work on some schoolwork until I’m ready?” Tony suggested. Normally Peter would help with setup, but Tony wanted to see for himself how Peter was acting, and Peter didn’t really question the change in routine. He just complacently sat down at his usual table and pulled out the first folded his fingers grasped. He had a blank worksheet of calculus problems. It was review mostly, not anything too hard. He stared at the paper, but he was on edge. His ears tuned in to everything Mr. Stark was doing behind him, especially whenever he heard a drawer open or close. Peter forced himself to breathe. He was being paranoid.

He tapped his pencil against the paper absentmindedly, reading but not processing the first problem. He circled some of the exponents— not because he needed to, but because his fingers twitched with the need to do _something_. He knew what he wanted to do, but he knew he couldn’t.

Tony was watching Peter work out of the corner of his eyes as he set up an equipment test. He pulled out the new nanobot prototypes and called DUM-E to be on fire standby— not that the nanobots had much of a fire risk. “Okay, we’re good to go.”

Peter didn’t respond. The math problem was of the third degree. Which didn’t even matter because that fact had nothing to do with what he was being asked to solve for. He stared at a slightly bent sticky note on the desk.

“Yo, Pete,” Tony called again. Peter still didn’t seem to notice. Tony walked over and set a hand on his shoulder. Peter startled, but he recovered in decent time. However, it took long enough that Tony noticed how blank the sheet was.

“You didn’t do any of your problems?” Tony asked. Peter breathed out carefully, working on an excuse.

“No,” He said. He thought for a moment longer. “I was excited to work on the nanotech.”

“I thought you liked math,” Tony said. He leaned against Peter’s worktable.

“I do.”

“Then why haven’t you done any of it?”

“I’m just not in the mood,” Peter said tersely.

“School is still going okay though, right?” Tony asked again.

“I said earlier that it was,” Peter said. “It’s just one assignment.”

“So no problems?”

“Yup. No problems,” Peter confirmed. It was quiet for a moment. Peter’s chest burned. He wanted to say something. His entire body was _begging_ him to say something about what was going on. Mr. Stark was giving him a look— that look he always gave him when he was waiting for a response from Peter. Mr. Stark hadn’t even asked him anything. What other answer did he want?! Was telling this man twice not enough?

“Your aunt and I are worried about you,” Tony said after a few long moments. _Oh_. So May must’ve called him, Peter figured. Why though? He told her he was fine too. He wasn’t fine, but he wasn’t going to tell them that. He couldn’t. It was too dangerous. He couldn’t put them in danger for his mistakes.

“I’m fine, really,” Peter gritted out.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” Tony pressed.

“No! I’m fine. Why are you asking so many questions?!” Peter burst out in frustration. Did Tony forget how to speak English? Why wouldn’t he leave him alone?

“The school said you failed a chemistry test,” Tony said carefully. Peter went rigid. He failed it? It made sense— he hadn’t finished half the test. But Mr. Westworth had him doing enough. He couldn’t even curve the grade?! Why wasn’t he—

“Have you spoken to the teacher?” Tony asked. Don’t tell him. Do _not_ tell him. Peter clenched his teeth and looked away. _He wanted Tony to know, but he didn’t want to tell him._

“Yes,” Peter answered, although his tone was dark, maybe even aggressive. Tony raised his eyebrows. What this was, whatever was going on, it was obviously upsetting the kid. Maybe he needed to back off for a minute, give him room to breathe before Tony continued prodding him about his silent theory. He took a few steps back towards the main console.

“Okay. As long as you’re working on it,” Tony said. Peter tensed, gripping the side of the table so hard that the metal began to warp under his fingers. He was working on it. He was working so hard to keep Westworth happy and everyone safe and everything under control, and no one knew. He was falling apart, and no one knew. Mr. Stark had just gotten closer than anyone to the truth, and he was walking away. But Peter couldn’t call him back. There was too much at risk. His identity, May, Ned, Michelle, Maisie… his window was closing. Peter felt like he was going to be sick. He was going to be trapped as Westworth’s little slut forever. Blackmailed, forever. He heard Tony pick up a screwdriver

“He’s raping me.”

The screwdriver hit the table.

“What?”

“I said, he’s raping me,” Peter said, swinging around to face Mr. Stark. His face was aghast, eyes wide. Tony had his theories that something was up with the teacher. Maybe that he was abusing Peter or making him steal things, but—

Tony didn’t respond for a moment, watching Peter as the kid’s eyes welled up in anger and frustration. He waited for Tony to yell at him— to tell him how stupid and weak and terrible he was.

Tony’s heart pounded against his chest. Adrenaline surged through his body. He reached for his nanobot attachment. Peter’s eyes widened.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Tony growled.

“No!” Peter almost tripped scrambling out of his chair, falling into Tony and grasping his wrists. “No! No, you can’t!”

“I can,” Tony hissed. He didn’t know it was this bad. That bastard deserved to rot in hell.

“No! He knows who I am. If I do anything or say anything— he’ll tell everyone,” Peter gasped. “You can’t!”

“Who you— what?” Tony paused.

“He has pictures of me in the suit. Mask off,” Peter said. Tony fell back to lean against his table.

 _“Jesus_ , kid.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen but it did and I let it go too far and I’m sorry. I’m so dumb and weak and—,” Peter stumbled over his words, and tears were beginning to spill out of his eyes.

“Stop.”

“What?” Peter gasped.

“Don’t say that. Don’t you ever blame yourself. Ever,” Tony said firmly.

“But I-“

“No.”

“You don’t even know what happened. I-,” Peter tried to explain himself.

“I know you did nothing wrong,” Tony said confidently. Peter shook his head, backing away from his mentor.

“No. No, I let him. He gave me the choice and I made it, and I _let_ him do it,” Peter said. “He said it was the photos or me, and I can back out at any time, but _I keep letting him_ —“

“Hold on,” Tony cut him off sharply. “Letting? Not just let?”

Peter paled, his face falling. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

“More than once?!” Both of their faces paled at the realization of what was being revealed.

“I’m sorry! Tony— I mean, Mr. Stark, I didn’t mean for this to happen. Any of it.”

“Peter.”

“I just— no one- no one can know. If anyone finds out who I am, it puts May and Ned and everyone in danger, and I’m not- I’m not strong enough to pr-protect them-.”

“Peter.”

“And then there’s Maisie and her sister, and I promised myself I wouldn’t let them get hurt either,” Peter spewed. “Even if I could delete the evidence, it’s still his word against mine, and I don’t know that he doesn’t have a contingency if we arrest him or something and I’ve been thinking it through but can’t find a way out. ‘M so stuck and I can’t- I can’t figure out a way out. I-“

“Peter!” Tony pulled the teenager into his body, and Peter flinched away, but Tony held him tight. Peter gasped in air as he realized he’d been hyperventilating the whole time, and he tried to relax into Tony. Tony was trying to help because Peter liked hugs, but right now they reminded him of all the wrong things, and he squirmed out of the hug to take a step away from Mr. Stark.

“Peter, we’re gonna figure it out,” Tony promised.

“I’m sorry,” Peter panted.

“Stop apologizing,” Tony said. “Come here.” He held his arms out for Peter, and Peter reluctantly let Mr. Stark hug him again. Tony stroked his hair and Peter held back a wince.

“You don’t need to apologize. We’re gonna fix it. Friday can find the files, and then we can blast him off the face of the-“

“No,” Peter shook his head into Mr. Stark’s chest. “Don’t kill him.” Tony clenched his jaw at the request. He knew the kid had a heart of gold, but _damn_ . Killing this asshole might be the best way to protect Peter, and Tony would be lying if he said he didn’t _want_ to kill Westworth. Tony never wanted his kid to have to see his damn face again. Tony himself didn’t even want to see him. He’d probably punch his face the first chance he got.

“And he has two daughters,” Peter whispered. “Maisie said she won’t risk the foster system. She’s been hurt too.” Tony furrowed his brow. It didn’t surprise him if the man had abused his daughters, but it didn’t seem like a huge roadblock. However, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. If they weren’t going to kill him, they would need evidence that Westworth hurt Peter. That alone would expose his identity. If they wanted to avoid it, they might just need the daughter. And if she was bitter about the foster system, she might refuse to testify in their favor or even post the photos herself.

“We need to make sure she’s safe,” Peter added on, and Tony nodded. He understood the most important part here. She might be the only one alive who Peter would relate to while he recovered. Tony rested his chin on Peter’s head, thinking. He couldn’t kill the asshole. Arresting him would expose Peter’s identity, and even then, he might not get convicted. There was no safety guarantee for the daughters. The only thing he could think was to threaten the teacher into leaving Peter alone, but he likely told Peter not to tell anyone, and that could be the end of things itself. It also left his daughters in his custody, which Tony doubted Peter would be okay with in the long run. He could definitely work to have them placed with a good family though.

“Carefully. We’ll handle it carefully,” Tony promised. Peter seemed to be a bit calmer now, so Tony let him go. Peter backed away and rubbed his arm.

“You okay?” Tony asked, despite the obvious.

“I… I just wanted someone to know,” Peter said sheepishly. He bit his lip. “I’m scared. It hurts.”

Tony felt a pang in his chest at those few simple words. He was going to fix this. They spent the rest of the night talking it out, but every plan had an issue. Everything they came up with had a caveat, or a way it could go wrong. Peter wasn’t willing to accept anything that wasn’t foolproof.

“Peter, please,” Tony begged. “We’re going to figure it out. Do _not_ go back tomorrow.”

“I already had tonight off. He’ll get suspicious,” Peter mumbled.

“Peter,” Tony grabbed his arm and motioned to the bruising on his wrist. “I’m not going to let him hurt you again.”

“You’re not. I am,” Peter said quietly. “He doesn’t hurt me as much if I’m being good. I’ll just—“

“You can’t—“

“Well do you have a better fucking plan?!” Peter snapped. He dropped into a chair. “I can’t risk it, Mr. Stark. Everything I’ve been through so far… it can’t be for nothing.”

Tony clenched his fists together, frantically trying to come up with something to stop him— to save Peter. He came up dry.

“Look. It’s- it’s 1am already. I haven’t been sleeping well as is, and I need to go to school tomorrow. We’ll keep texting and talking, but until then, we can’t change the status quo,” Peter said. He held his voice level, quiet. It was a state of resignation that made Tony want to vomit.

“Pete…don’t,” Tony begged. Peter swung his backpack onto his shoulder.

“I’ll take an Uber home. No need to drive me,” Peter said. “Call me if you have something.”

“At least try to see if you can get out of it. Just for tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll have something figured out by Saturday. Tell him you have a commitment with me or something. He can even call me and verify if he wants,” Tony stood up to block Peter’s path. “Do whatever you can to avoid it.”

“I’m not going to risk him thinking that I told you,” Peter said, but his eyes watered at the thought of another night with _him_.

Tony went to wipe a tear off of Peter’s cheek with his thumb, but Peter leaned back.

“Don’t touch me. Please,” Peter whispered. He’d had more than enough touch this week.

“Okay. Just try. For me?” Tony fought his urge to brush the messy hair away from his kid’s face.

“Okay,” Peter promised. “I’ll give it a shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry friends. it'll all be fucked up again tomorrow (pun intend). Until then!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, oh fuck these chapters keep getting longer and more brutal. For spoiler purposes, I'm putting tags and warnings for this one in the end notes. If any of the themes so far (especially concerning the domestic parts of Westworth's life) might trigger you, you might want to go ahead and scroll down to it. Tags will also be updated in the story description itself.

Throughout the day at school, Peter kept checking his phone, hoping to see a text from Mr. Stark. There wasn’t one. Not even in chemistry. Peter was staring at the old text chat while Ned shook up their vial of chemicals.

“Parker!” Mr. Westworth barked from his desk, causing Peter to startle. “Is using your phone in the instructions for day two of this lab?”

“No sir,” Peter said quickly. He tucked his phone into his hoodie. “Sorry, sir.”

Mr. Westworth stood up from his desk, coming over to check that Peter and Ned were on track. They were ahead of most of their classmates, so he didn’t comment on that. “Stay focused. You need it.” The second part was uttered at a lower volume, and Peter paled. The tests hadn’t been handed back yet, and they wouldn’t be until Monday, but Peter had a feeling he hadn’t done so hot.

When Mr. Westworth had returned to his desk, Ned asked what that was about. Peter hadn’t ever freaked out that much over getting caught slacking off. Peter shrugged and set his phone back on the table where he’d be able to see it light up. “Just something with Mr. Stark.”

* * *

At the end of the day, Peter shyly knocked on the door of Mr. Westworth’s classroom. The teacher looked up from his laptop and gave a sadistic grin.

“Ah, Peter. Did you want to talk about the extra credit for the class? Why don’t you close the door?” Mr. Westworth said in a way that definitely wasn’t a suggestion. Peter stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him. He made sure to stand in view of the window.

“I missed you last night,” Mr. Westworth mused. Peter shrugged. “It looks like you missed me too. Did you want to get a head start on your assignment?” Mr. Westworth stood up, and Peter automatically took a step back.

“No! I mean, I’m not saying ‘no’ to, y’know, the thing, but I have a problem,” Peter started nervously. Westworth’s face immediately hardened.

“What kind of problem?” Westworth asked, pulling out his phone. Peter was reminded of the photos. “Did you break the deal?”

“No! No, I didn’t tell anyone, I swear,” Peter promised. Mr. Westworth lowered his hand with the phone. Peter cleared his throat.

“There’s uh… this employee event at Stark Industries tonight. Mr. Stark asked me to be there. I still have that internship, y’know? He wants me to help with set-up and take-down, so I’m going to be busy for most of the night,” Peter lied. He’d likely be hiding in Tony’s lab that entire time.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Westworth said after a moment. Peter blinked in surprise that Mr. Westworth was going with it. He didn’t think it would be that easy to— “It’s always rough when your favorite intern has a terrible cold.”

“He seemed adamant that I be there,” Peter said.

“Well, I don’t think Mr. Stark would want you coughing on all of his guests,” Westworth pointed out. Peter’s hopes slipped down the cliff side. “I guess you’ll just have to call in sick.”

“I rarely miss anything. He’d be suspicious if I didn’t even have a cough or—“

“If you need a cough, I’m sure I can take care of that,” Mr. Westworth threatened, lowering his head. Peter frowned. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here. This isn’t optional.”

“I know, sir. I just don’t want him to get suspicious of me,” Peter said in a last ditch effort. “He  _ is _ an Avenger.”

Westworth seemed unfazed. “I’ll see you tonight, Peter. Same time as usual.”

“Okay,” Peter dipped his head and slipped out of the room quickly. He leaned against a wall in the hall.  _ Fuck. _

* * *

When the door closed, Peter’s spider-sense spiked more than usual, and he glanced at Westworth with growing alarm. Did he know? No… he couldn’t. Not possible. Still, Peter hurriedly stripped his suit off, and Westworth was watching him with a set jaw.

“You’ve been acting a bit different today, Parker,” Westworth said, tilting his head. Peter furrowed his eyebrows. He hadn’t been acting different, had he? “You haven’t spoken to anyone, have you?”

Peter looked up in surprise and what successfully passed off as confusion. “What? No. At least- not-not about this,” He stammered. Mr. Westworth slid his phone open, and Peter took a step toward him defensively. “No! I promise I’ve been good. Don’t release the photos! Please!” Westworth looked him over.

“Well then,” Westworth said, seeming to believe him. “I guess you’ve just gotten too comfortable here. That stunt with Stark you pulled? That’s not how this deal works. You don’t get days off unless  _ I _ say so”

Peter swallowed, and he was about to ask what Westworth meant when the man grabbed him and tossed him onto the bed. “A harsh fuck should do you good.” Peter tried to get up instinctively, but Westworth pushed him back face-down.

“Wait! No! Please I-“ Peter was cut off by a hand painfully gripping his hair. Westworth drove his face down into the mattress.

“What was that, Parker?” He snarled, and Peter could hear the threat.

“I-I’m sorry. I swear,” Peter whimpers. “I promise I’ll be good. I-I’ll te-tell him I’m sick in the future.” A couple more days, Peter reminded himself as he clenched his eyes shut. Just until they figured it out and then he was done with all this. He just needed to hold on. And hold on he did.

Westworth kept his cheek pressed against the mattress by his hair and pulled his hips up off the bed, getting the teenager’s knees underneath him. It was uncomfortable on the boy’s spine, but he was too scared to do anything to fix it. He needed to be compliant— not arouse suspicion.

“I was nice the other night, but you seem to forget that I don’t have to be. There won’t be as much prelude this time,” Westworth declared. Peter figured out what he meant when he felt that warm flesh against his ass.

“Wait, we didn’t--“

“I know. I haven’t opened you up or used any lube. You need to be punished-- to remember your place,” Westworth insisted. Peter whimpered and squirmed slightly until the hand in his hair squeezed painfully to make him stop. The teacher’s other hand gripped his hip as he lined up to Peter’s hole.

He began to push in, and it was so bone dry and stretching and grating that Peter couldn’t help but cry out and arch away from him. Westworth pulled him back, getting his cock a little deeper in the process. He had a slow, insistent, push, and it felt like someone was rubbing sandpaper  _ inside _ of Peter’s body. He groaned in pain.

“Please-“ Peter started.

“Please give you more? I’m working on it,” Westworth chuckled. He pulled back slightly only to push in with more force, breaking past another ring of muscle. Peter yelped in surprise, tears leaking out of his eyes. He bit his lip to keep from begging. He felt himself drawing blood immediately. Westworth shoved farther in, even as Peter’s body valiantly tried to reject him.

“You’re so much tighter like this. Maybe this should be our procedure in the future,” Westworth teased, and Peter groaned. He felt the impalement to his core when Westworth got all the way in, and Peter rested his head against the mattress, thankful for the break that— didn’t even happen.

Westworth immediately started moving in and out, jabbing him with such force that it grated Peter against the bed, and his hands scrambled for purchase in the sheets. He whined as Westworth viciously pounded in and out of him. He didn’t even remember Westworth reaching for it, but now there was a ring on his cock, meaning that Peter would have a painful hard-on soon.

Peter couldn’t help but cry out every time that Westworth slammed into him, and soon the hand was out of his hair, wrapping around his dick to jerk him off roughly. As always, Peter was oversensitive and overstimulated, so he keened, squirming underneath the man. Without the hand in his hair, he tried to push his upper body up for comfort, but there was a quick shift.

Westworth was now gripping his cock with one hand and his hair with the other, using Peter’s dick to pull him back into each thrust instead of his hip. It hurt. It  _ hurt. _ It  _ really, REALLY _ hurt. Peter yelled out, but it was muffled by the bed. He writhed only for the pain in his scalp and cock to increase with Westworth’s frustration, and it wasn’t long before Westworth was spurting cum into his ass. It stung this time, and Peter didn’t know why, but he couldn’t even focus on it for long.

Westworth moved the boy’s knees out from under him again so Peter was splayed flat on the bed, Westworth still inside of him as he sat on the vigilante’s ass. He grabbed his balls, rolling them between his fingers. He leaned forward to Peter’s ear.

“I’m guessing it’ll be cold enough to wear a sweatshirt tomorrow,” He whispered, and then he bit down hard on his shoulder. Peter yelped, but Westworth held his torso against the mattress as he sucked a hickey where Peter’s shoulder met his neck. He repeated the motion around his shoulder blades, leaving several claiming marks on his upper back.

Westworth had gone soft in Peter’s ass by now, and he pulled out, flipping the young man over roughly. Peter looked up at him with a mixture of shock and fear, as he hadn’t seen Westworth at this intensity before. What was going on? Why was he acting like this? He didn’t dare move a muscle as Westworth handcuffed him to the bed frame again, and he shoved a vibrator in his ass on full intensity. Peter muffled another pained whimper.

“Stay,” Westworth commanded, as if he were an animal and as if he would go anywhere anyway. Peter clenched his eyes shut, testing the cuffs around his wrists. Did Westworth know? Did Peter need to be running now? Westworth would probably already have dropped the pictures and gone on the run if he did, Peter assured himself. His gut was starting to churn with the need to cum, but the cock ring wouldn’t let him, so he squirmed uselessly.

Westworth reentered, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in hand.  _ Oh _ . Alcohol could explain the roughness, right? Westworth took a swig and breathed out with an ‘ahh’, as he sat on the bed next to his captive. He grabbed his face, and Peter could taste the alcohol as the man kissed him with a gross, sloppy tongue.

Peter winced, and Westworth pulled away, grabbing the bottle. Peter gasped quietly when whiskey was poured onto his stomach, fitting itself into the lines between his abs. Westworth leaned down, lapping it up and licking it off of his skin. It was  _ disgusting _ . Peter cringed at the slurp when Westworth reached his belly button.

The vibrator was still buzzing away, and it was only when Westworth had sucked his abdomen dry that he seemed to remember it. He pushed a hand down on Peter’s gut, increasing the pressure until he couldn’t help but moan. Then, he ran a finger up the erect dick, circling the head. Peter arched up into it.

“You like that, don’t you?” Westworth teased, but he received no response. He wrapped his hand around Peter’s dick, rubbing absentmindedly. Peter breathed out quickly. “You like being my cum dumpster. You might as well beg now.”

When still no response came, Westworth scoffed. He filled up his mouth with alcohol, and then he engulfed Peter’s dick in his mouth, mixing saliva and sweat and alcohol all into one. It prickled at his skin while also giving it a cooling sensation, and it set his senses alight. He bucked up into Westworth’s mouth. “Please-“

Westworth swallowed the alcohol, and he continued to suck on Peter’s cock for a moment before popping off. A whimper escaped the teenager’s throat before he could stop it. Westworth reached out, grabbing his dick tightly and jerking him off again, squeezing and twisting so much that Peter feared he was going to tear his cock right off. He groaned in pain, starting to struggle under the man’s grip. It only got worse when Westworth grabbed the base of the vibrator, thrusting it in and out. Peter choked on his own breath.

“Please- sir… I- please,” He stammered. Westworth ignored him, continuing on until the teenager was in a constant stream of begging and bucking and bawling under his touch. Then, he just pulled away, removing himself from the bed. Peter gasped at the loss, and his hips moved on their own, searching for something. Westworth just chuckled.

“I told you… I’m in control, here,” He reminded.

“I- I know. Just- please… sir, it hurts! It-it hurts!” Peter cried, feeling like his dick was about to explode. Westworth shook his head and grabbed his base tightly, pinching it with two fingers so that removing the ring still didn't free him. He jerked him off with his other hand again until Peter was shaking the bed from mere reflexive struggling. He released the base between his two fingers, and with a couple more strokes, Peter was able to come. He did so with a shout, white spurting up and landing back on his stomach. Westworth leaned in close to his head, and Peter could hear the intoxication.

“Who’s your master?”

“Y-you,” Peter whimpered.

“Who’s in charge?”

“You.”

“Good. As a reminder, we’re going to test your stamina again. It is Friday night, after all. What’s your previous record? 15?” Westworth asked. Peter felt his heart sink, but he nodded, knowing he was in for a long night.

“Y-Yes s-sir,” He stuttered. Westworth considered him for a minute before walking away a little and opening a closet.

“I haven’t used this in a while, but now might not be the worst time,” He said, carrying something in his arms. Peter narrowed his eyes in confusion, not recognizing it. It looked like really just half a cylinder with a power cord sticking out from one end and a cord with a remote on the other end. It had a little pole sticking up, but Peter didn’t know it’s purpose.

“What-“

“It’s called a Sybian, Peter, and you’re going to ride it. After all, you were pretty good with that bull last week,” Westworth explained. Peter swallowed. Last week felt like a year ago.

Westworth went back into the closet and grabbed another box, this one full of different attachments, and Peter was confused about the phallic objects until he watched Westworth attach one to the top of the half-cylinder, on the little pole. It had the shape of a large cock, but there were rubber, spikey bumps covering the surface. It looked like it’d have good grip, which scared Peter since his only lubricant was Westworth’s cum leaking out of him.

Westworth finished hooking it in, and he plugged the cord into an outlet. He pushed the device closer to the bed frame. “Up we get.” He grabbed Peter’s lithe body, rolling him over again so he was stomach-down. Hands still attached to the headboard, Westworth forced him to sit on the non-bulbous part of the cylinder, facing the headboard himself. The pillows were unceremoniously thrown out of the way.

“Mr.-“ Peter started anxiously, but he was cut off by a harsh snap.

“Shut up, Parker,” Westworth snarled. He grabbed Peter’s hips and lifted him. Despite the boy’s immediate burst of struggling, Peter couldn’t stop himself from getting impaled by the Sybian when Westworth forced his ass down. He tried to keep his legs against the bed to stay up off of it a little.

Westworth wouldn’t let him, grabbing his ankle and pulling it back. The dildo stretched Peter painfully as his knees hit the bed, and he had to grab onto the headboard to keep himself from falling forward. Mr. Westworth produced rope that tied his ankles to the edge of the Sybian. Peter panicked and tried to sit up more, but it was harder. His body was stretched in a weird position, and he searched for one that put less pressure on his ass.

“Stop that,” Westworth wasn’t having it, and soon a rope was holding his thighs against the device tightly as well. He couldn’t move his lower half. Westworth reached for the remote.

Peter jolted when the machine buzzed to life, vibrating and slowly rotating the toy inside his ass. It dragged his skin a little, making him wince, but soon, the device picked up enough cum to not grate him as much. Peter tried to ignore the weird feeling, focusing on finding a more comfortable position while thinking of a different place and time. Westworth was rummaging in the closet, and a familiar clicking sound had Peter’s eyes flying wide.

“Sir! Please! No! That hurts so much and I-“

“You have no control,” Westworth said, hand suddenly around Peter’s throat. “I do what I want, and you do what I want. Now stay quiet. This will help you reach your goal. I want 20 orgasms out of you before you go home, so we’ve got 19 to go.” Peter averted his eyes and said nothing. The man released his neck.

He felt Mr. Westworth grabbing his dick as he sat, and he heard the switch. Then, he felt the vacuuming force, and the milking machine swallowed his cock. It wasn’t moving yet, but it had a steady pressure, as if a hand was lightly gripping his entire cock at once.

“I think this will be enough for a bit,” Westworth mused as he adjusted the controls on the milking machine, allowing it to pump Peter’s cock slowly. Soon after, the Sybian picked up, rotating a little faster, and it thrust in and out of him shallowy.

Westworth was leaning back in a chair next to the bed, watching as he took a swing of alcohol. Peter frowned, and he could already feel his body starting to heat up again. He didn’t want it to happen, but another orgasm built up slowly, spilling out of his cock when it was ready. That was two. Westworth didn’t really expect him to get to 20, right?

More time passed, and with it, so did the orgasms. Whenever Peter wasn’t cumming fast enough, Westworth upped the settings on the machines. They had passed the point of uncomfortable pleasure long ago, and Peter was just trying not to sob out loud. He had chewed his lip so much that it bled now. It wasn’t good for him, and he hated the taste of the blood, but it muffled the groans that tried to escape his throat. Peter came again, and he shuddered in the restraints. What was that? Ten? Eleven? He wasn’t sure.

Mr. Westworth got up, whispering praise, and Peter tensed when he felt a hand on his bare skin. He tried to shut Westworth out, but the man was rubbing his back soothingly. The circles in his skin gradually slipped lower, beginning to grope his ass. A cough escaped from Peter’s lips, and a hand ran through his hair. “Shh. You’re doing great. You’re such a good little slut, you know that?”

Peter clenched his teeth together. He didn’t want the man’s praise, but Westworth didn’t stop. He kept speaking, despite the protests that begged to escape Peter’s lips. Westworth squeezed his ass, massaging it, and it brought him to the edge. Peter cried out now as glass shards shot through his dry cock, which had nothing left to give. It stung and burned and Peter couldn’t stand it. A clap on his back and an “atta boy Parker” pushed him past his breaking point, and a hiccup slipped out before he could stop it.

Westworth made a noise of curiosity, moving around to look at Peter’s face. Peter tried to hide the panic and fear, but Westworth smiled knowingly and that made everything worse. It made trying not to cry like climbing Mount Everest, and he couldn’t,  _ couldn’t _ do it anymore.

“Please,” Peter choked out before he could stop himself. Tears finally spilled over the edges of his tired eyelids, and he tried to blink them away quickly, but they were noticed anyway. Westworth tilted his head, and his thumb reached for Peter’s face, wiping a tear off of his cheek. Peter was too afraid to move his head away.

“Please what?” Westworth asked, reaching for something on the bed. Peter’s hopes rose a millimeter.

“Please, I- ah,” Peter yelped as the Sybian started to rotate a little faster, and it hurt and felt wrong and he needed it to- “please stop. I need a break. Sir, please!”

“Uh uh uh,” Westworth chimed mockingly. “That’s cheating, Pete.” Peter cringed at the nickname, but he slumped in his restraints, leaning forward to rest with their support. It just angled the Sybian at his prostrate better, and he wasn’t a fan of that either. But he was so exhausted. He breathed heavily, coughing out the poison of his environment.

“Come on now. Let’s get another one out of you,” Westworth rubbed at his now exposed spine, brushing a couple fingers down it in a slow, tender movement. Peter hated it, and it just made the tears flow faster. He arched his back away from the man’s touch, and Westworth gave an annoyed sigh. “You can’t run out of steam this early, kid. I’ll be back.”

He left Peter alone in the room, and Peter took advantage of it. He let himself break down, just briefly…. sobbing, struggling, crying, hiccuping. He needed to break out of the chains, but he couldn’t. He knew he could physically, but he wouldn’t. People might go after Aunt May. Peter felt another wave of helplessness wash over him at the thought. She’d be so horrified if she found out what Peter had done— what he’d let be done. Peter rubbed his face on his arm, trying to wipe some of the tears off of his face. He tried to stop crying as he heard voices in the hall coming closer. It was Mr.Westworth, and a female voice. Maisie?

“No,” She said firmly, but Westworth had her by the upper arm as he led her into the room. Maisie kept her eyes trained on Westworth, glaring at him, but as she backed away from him and the door, Peter realized they were all trapped in there together. His face turned red at being so exposed and vulnerable in front of Maisie. She avoided looking at him.

“Yes. He needs your  _ help _ , Maisie,” Westworth said warningly. Maisie glanced at Peter, only for a quick second, and then she shook her head no. Mr. Westworth strode over to her, and Maisie squeaked as she was cornered. Westworth grabbed her shoulder and hip. He whispered in her ear, and Peter normally would be able to hear, but he was too distracted by a particularly hard vibration in his body to focus on it. Peter winced.

When he looked back, Mr. Westworth was pulling away from her, and Peter noticed that his hand had been cupping her groin. Maisie looked upset. However, her expression hardened as Westworth put a hand on her lower back and pushed her closer to the bed. “Maisie’s kindly volunteered to help you get off.”

“I-“ Maisie stopped herself, looking between the two of them nervously before eyeing the ground. Peter didn’t need any evidence to know she didn’t volunteer.

“Up on the bed, Mai-Mai,” Westworth murmured, giving her another prod forward. She looked at the way Peter was tied and seemed confused. Westworth sighed in frustration and grabbed her hips, lifting her onto the bed. She was forced to duck under one of Peter’s arms so that they encased her in somewhat of an embrace (his hands are still stuck to the headboard). She sat facing him, straddling the end of the Sybian. Even she could feel the force of its shaking, and she gave Peter a sympathetic look.

“You know what to do,” Westworth said impatiently. Peter and Maisie stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before Westworth put his hand on Maisie’s neck and gave her a pointed push forward. Her eyes were hard, and she looked angry, but when she kissed him, it was surprisingly gentle. Peter’s eyes widened, and he was too dumbfounded by this entire situation to kiss back.

“Get on with it,” Westworth said, and Maisie frowned against his lips. She pulled away from Peter, examining his face red with embarrassment and pain and heat. She kissed near his earlobe, on the side Westworth couldn’t see. “The sooner you get off, the sooner we both leave. Sorry. Can I touch you?”

Peter was taken aback again by the surprise of her actually  _ asking _ for consent. He was so tired and desperate and confused and hard that he nodded yes without really thinking about it. He tried to just focus on Maisie’s lips against his instead of the burning in his ass, but he gasped when her hands found his balls. She hushed him, massaging them in her hand. Peter felt the twist and clenched his eyes shut.

He came again, oversensitive like before, and Maisie tried to swallow his groans with a kiss. Peter leaned into the crutch. It was a distraction. And she was a good kisser. Not that that made this okay… but… she was helping. There was so much mystery about her that intrigued him. Peter immediately frowned with guilt for thinking her about that way. They were both trapped here just the same. It was just the arousal messing with him.

He was ripped out of his thoughts by the Sybian kicking up another notch, and he whined, trying to shift off it. Maisie wasn’t sitting on the attachment, but she could still feel it through her jeans. “Let me help you.”

She didn’t ask. She just took off the milker and it was like a breath of fresh air for his cock. Her hand stung wherever it touched, but the pain was a million times better than before. She began to stroke his cock, and the pain was lessening as his body forced him to get hard again.

Peter bit down on his lip again, dropping his forehead against her shoulder to rest. It still hurt, but they couldn’t stop, and they both knew it. She rubbed the back of his neck soothingly to help him calm down. Maisie unfortunately knew from experience that being calm would help him orgasm faster, and she wanted this to be over with.

She could feel Peter’s hot breath on her neck, and his sweat made his skin stick to hers when he shifted to nuzzle deeper into her neck. She knew he was trying to dissociate, and Maisie looked past Peter to see her father smirking at them, watching his daughter participate in his schemes. She was only doing it to protect her sister. She twisted her hand one more time and felt him shudder into her. Nothing came out of him, but she could tell from the way that he convulsed that her father would count it.

Peter was exhausted, almost delirious as he leaned against her. She kissed his cheek, trying to bring him back. “C’mon Peter. We need to do this,” She whispered. He mumbled some sort of apology into her neck. She sighed. She didn’t know why she was being so gentle with him. This situation had never happened before and maybe she felt bad he was here. He wasn’t the worst person in the world, and he actually tried to help people, so maybe she just felt guilty doing this to him. They just didn’t have a choice. Maybe she did, but… her sister came first. Always. She nudged him again, but he didn’t really respond. “Peter.”

“Parker,” Westworth snapped, getting up impatiently. Peter reacted to  _ that _ , tensing and trying to sit up straighter. He took another swig to finish off his whiskey. Peter was shaking, and Maisie rubbed his lower back in small circles, trying to keep the anger off her face. Westworth opened the lower drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a box. Maisie swiveled her head to look at him, and it jostled Peter.

“Dad,” She snapped. “He’s finished.”

“He can take it,” Westworth responded tersely. He opened the box, grabbing a syringe and a bottle. It was a mixture of aphrodisiacs, adrenaline-inducing drugs, and drugs meant to decrease refractory periods. It was a concoction he was all too happy to find on the black market a few years back. Maisie glared at him, but it turns into a look of surprise as he filled the syringe up all the way.

“ _ Dad _ . You’re going to kill him,” she hissed. Not that there was any sort of standard with these drugs, but she hadn’t seen him use more than a quarter syringe on himself, and he had once mentioned that a third of it accidentally knocked Connor out for a day when they were done.

“He has an enhanced metabolism. He recovers fast. If he wanted to, he could have hit 20 already. He’s just being difficult, and this should help him along. He can take it,” Westworth slurred. Maisie subtly clutched Peter tighter to her. Peter saw the needle and flinched, seeming to get more consciousness back.

“No- no needles,” Peter protested, finally raising his voice above a mumbling level. Westworth ignored him, and there was a loud smack as he slapped Peter’s ass. He flinched, groaning as it jostled his sore body around the Sybian. Westworth stuck the needle into his ass, and Peter whined weakly as an insane amount of chemicals were forced into his left butt cheek.

It didn’t take long before the trembling got worse, and Peter was practically vibrating against Maisie. The Sybian had been turned off while Westworth waited to watch the drugs set in, and the large amount and close insertion of the drugs hit Peter like a slap in the face. Peter’s face had turned a deeper red and his body tensed and relaxed in anticipation. He even rocked his hips on the Sybian without meaning to. Westworth smirked and switched it back on at a low level, drawing a moan from Peter.

Peter was exhausted and barely conscious, but the drugs were starting to take over. He couldn’t stop himself from rutting against the Sybian more insistently, and even though Maisie knew it was wrong, she gripped his cock to help him get off. Her smooth hand moved between caressing and squeezing his tip to rolling his balls in her fingers. To both of their surprises, he seemed suddenly more aware, becoming hard in her hand again. He sat up a bit more, no longer leaning on her. The shift pushed the Sybian against his prostate again, and he flinched.

Maisie hushed him again, rubbing his sides and his abs like she was supposed to. She rubbed near his cock, but waited a few minutes before jerking off the raw skin again. Peter came within a minute of that, and she spread his cum around as lubricant.

Maisie continued to jerk him off lightly, and with the drugs, it wasn’t long before he was coming again. Maisie patted his back awkwardly after he convulses in a mixture of pleasure and pain. She looked to her father. “You’re hurting him. How many more did you say?”

“Five,” Westworth answered nonchalantly. Maisie scowled but kissed Peter as well to hide some of the horror on his face.

“We’ll get there. Just give me one more for now,” Maisie lied. Peter groaned, quivering against her, and his arms shifted around her shoulders. She groped his ass, giving his ass and balls attention for a bit instead of his cock. A few minutes later, he rocked his hips, brushing his cock against her jeans in a cry for attention. She returned to it, squeezing and twisting until cum sped out once more.

“Good boy,” She whispered, and Peter’s face of disgust screamed at her not to say that again. Fair. To be honest, she was fighting not to be sick either. She focused her nervous energy on him instead, jerking him off so vigorously that he actually mewled and tried to pull away. However, he was hard, so she didn’t stop, and she had him coming again a few seconds later.

“Three more, kiddos,” Westworth said, and Peter looked at him. He had his hand in his pants, probably getting off to the sight of his daughter taking advantage of his student. Maisie knew that that was exactly what it was, and she gripped Peter a little tighter to hide her anger. That sick--

“It hurts,” Peter gasped, dipping his head into her shoulder again. Westworth leaned forward, upping the settings on the Sybian to that it churns Peter’s insides. He moaned, body tensing up once more. The drugs combined with his spider-senses make every touch feel more intense, so the Sybian feels like it’s tearing his insides apart.

“Maybe it does. And you  _ like _ that, don’t you?” Mr. Westworth breathed into his ear. The man smirked at Maisie and moved toward her face. She blocked him with a hand on his chest. She was about done with this, and she didn’t need a drunken kiss. His face fell. Maisie made only a small noise of pain at the harsh slap that followed, but it still had enough force to throw her off balance, jostling the teenagers on the Sybian. Peter yelped as the new position they fell into somehow pressed the dildo into him even harder. He tried to move back, but Maisie grabbed his hips, holding him where he was.

“No… please! It h-hurts;” Peter gasped, voice multiple octaves higher than usual. Maisie looked him in the eyes, and she knew that he’d only actually feel better once they were done, so she didn’t let up. She took a hand and rubbed her thumb over the head of his cock, pushing down. Peter came again with a weak cry, and Maisie noted that the few wet orgasms that the drugs made possible were already fading. He was running out of steam.

Maisie gave him a second to rest, to get his bearings. She rubbed gently at his back, teasing his hips and upper ass. Mr. Westworth seemed bored, turning the setting on the sybian up and down to see if he could get any sort of reaction from Peter or Maisie, which he couldn’t. Maisie hadn’t been in this position in a while, but she was already remembering how much she hated it. When Peter seems ready, she squeezed up and down his shaft. He moaned, but she couldn’t tell if it was pleasure, pain, or exhaustion. It took a while, maybe 5 minutes, before he was hard again. Westworth huffed impatiently, turning the Sybian back up to full on both settings. Peter gave a pitiful keen as he struggled uselessly to get off of it. Maisie frowned, remembering to kiss him as a distraction, but it took a bit to work. It was another minute or so before he dry orgasmed with cry of pain.

Another 10 minutes passed, and Maisie really couldn’t get him hard again. “I think he’s at his limit. He won’t-“

“He can handle it. Maybe you just need to be more… direct.”

“No,” Maisie snapped immediately, but Westworth just shrugged.

“It’ll get you out faster. I’ll even provide a condom,” Westworth urged. Maisie looked at Peter for his reaction, but he wasn’t even listening, somewhere in a dazed state.

“I don’t want to,” she refused.

“You don’t have to want to…” Westworth chuckled. After several long moments of staring each other down, it’s clear they’re at a stalemate. Peter wouldn’t orgasm again like this, and her father wasn’t going to let him quit early. Her father set his large hand on the back of his neck, squeezing it lightly.

“You can fuck him, or I can physically make you fuck him. It’s your choice, darling,” He said. Maisie clenched her teeth together. She absolutely hated the idea of listening to him, but she preferred it to him physically manipulating her again.

“Fine. Grab a fucking condom then,” She growled. Once her father had turned away to grab a new packet from the drawer, she refocused on Peter. She rubbed his head behind his ears, trying to make him more aware.

“Peter. I’m going to fuck you, okay?” She murmured into his ear. It broke through his trance enough for his eyes to widen, and Peter opened his mouth but closed it a moment later. He wasn’t quite sure what she had said and who was fucking who, but doubted he had any choice in the matter anyway. Westworth turned down the settings on the machine, and he passed Maisie an ultra-ribbed condom. It’d make Peter’s sensitive cock hurt even more. Maisie went to protest the unnecessary cruelty, but the words fell away. Unnecessary cruelty was what he liked, wasn’t it? She took a deep breath, rolling the condom down over Peter’s cock. He groaned and swayed, making her fear that he was going to pass out. He didn’t, eventually stilling where he sat.

“Can I at least get him off of the Sybian to get a better angle?” Maisie asked. Westworth shook his head.

“Nope. Work with what you got. Except your clothes,” he chuckled. Maisie groaned, standing up between Peter’s arms to carefully pull off her shorts. She left her underwear on, preferring to just push it aside for privacy.

Peter looked at her, forcing all of the pieces into place within his head. He’d lost all sense of agency, so his voice was quiet and broken. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Shut up,” Maisie snarled, although it wasn’t quite hostile. She kept having to remind herself that it wasn’t  _ his _ fault. She put her hands on his shoulders, using them to help lift herself up. It was a terribly awkward angle to ride him from. Perhaps one of the worst, as she was directly in front of him with almost no room to adjust herself. Westworth looked at her expectantly though, so she grabbed his flaccid cock and figured it out anyway.

Peter closed his eyes and looked away from her as she pushed her underwear aside. He felt terrible, even as she sunk down around him. He hadn’t been inside a girl before, and he tried to process that this was apparently how it felt, but it could also be so distorted from everything else. Maisie moved one hand to the back of his neck and her other to the edge of the machine, trying to ride him even in the inconvenient position. It was a lot of effort for little result, and she paused, resting on the Sybian with him pushed in to the hilt. Mr. Westworth reached for the remote in impatience.

The settings suddenly dialed up to full again, and Maisie could actually feel the attachment vibrating against her pussy through her underwear. It was  _ strong _ . It shook her insides more than she thought it had the last time he made her ride it. Had he put the damn thing on a power booster? No wonder Peter had been crying out so much. His insides must’ve felt like they’d been through a blender.

The force got her moving off the Sybian, and she rode Peter carefully up and down, rubbing the back of his neck as she went. She finally felt him hardening, and she tried to increase her speed, but it felt like forever. With the help of the drugs and Maisie’s soft pussy enveloping his cock, Peter finally got hard again. She rubbed against him, and he came with a final shout into the condom, falling forward into her.

“Hey,” She said, trying to push him off. The Sybian slowly powered down, and Westworth got up. He stroked the back of Peter’s hair, damp with sweat as he breathed heavily against Maisie’s shoulder.

“I didn’t think he’d actually make it,” Westworth laughed, and Maisie fought to keep the look of contempt off her face. He patted Peter’s back a little  _ too _ hard, and he winced, coughing quietly. His forehead still pressed into her shoulder.

Westworth untied the rope holding him down, but Peter didn’t move. He didn’t have the energy. When the handcuffs came off, he just leaned on Maisie, breathing in the freshness of her fragrance instead of the stench of sex that fills the room. She carefully slid off of him, letting his cock sit free, and she started to slide out from under his arms. Peter fell forward, and Maisie caught him with a frown. Westworth lifted his hips off the Sybian, and the two got him onto his back. Peter just stared up at the ceiling blankly. His body was so sore that he didn’t really even feel anything anymore, and his mind felt like mush.

“Man, we really fucked his brains out, didn’t we?” Westworth laughed heartily, and Maisie swallowed bile. Not _we._ _He_ did this. She carefully brushed Peter’s damp hair out of his face, and when Westworth told her she was free to go, she didn’t, much to both of their surprise. Maisie mumbled a complaint about being tired. Secretly, she intended on making sure he made it out of the house safely tonight.

Now that there was no more sex, Westworth was bored, and he left the room to probably go drink some more alcohol. Maisie sat on the bed next to Peter’s torso, running her hand up and down his bicep, seeing if she could get a reaction. She doesn’t get much of one. Peter closed his eyes, and he was out like a light. It concerned her, but she didn’t want to force waking him up.

Maisie slowly stood up, keeping an eye on him. She almost left the door open when she went to shower in the adjacent bathroom, but she thought better of it when she heard her father rustling around in the kitchen. When she reopened the door, Peter still hadn’t moved. Maisie sighed. She shouldn’t be helping him. She usually wouldn’t, but she felt guilty.

“Hey,” She returned to his side, patting his face lightly. “Wake up.” His eyes slowly blinked open, and he stared up at her. “You wanna go home?”

She received a subtle nod. “Okay. I’m going to call you an Uber. You’re not in a state to go home yourself.” Peter opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out, and she soothed his hair back again. She typed a few things into her phone. Luckily, Peter was aware enough to mumble out his address that had been drilled into his head by May.

“Can you get up?” She asked. Peter shrugged. Maisie sighed, grabbing his clothes and bringing them to the bedside. She helped him sit up and get into them.

“Come on. She’s almost here,” Maisie pulled Peter to his feet, and he wobbled, but he stayed up. They made it to the front door, where Maisie watched to make sure he got into the car. Against her better judgement, she went to the passenger window of the car.

“Excuse me?” She asked when the Uber driver had rolled her window down. “He had a bit too much to drink. Can you make sure he gets inside? Just that he doesn’t pass out on the sidewalk or whatever. I’ll throw in an extra tip for it.”

“Sure,” The driver said, although she seemed annoyed at the idea of an obviously underage drunk in her back seat. Maisie thanked her and backed away from the car before it drove off. There was nothing else she could do. She sighed and went back into the house. Westworth was sitting on the couch, watching her.

“Has a spider caught your fancy?” He smirked devilishly. Maisie huffed and barely held back from flicking him off as she went back to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, folks. That was uh... probably the most fucked up thing I've written. None of that is okay irl. 
> 
> Tags for this chapter should be marked as Rough Sex, Incestual Voyeurism, Forced to Fuck, Vaginal Sex, and Condoms.
> 
> Hopefully I can get the last two chapters up in the next two days, as my goal was to have this done before break ended, but break sorta ends tomorrow, so it may take a bit longer.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that this chapter is long af. I'm still more or less trying to make each day a chapter, and there's a lot happening today. Only added tag is gang rape.

Peter woke up in bed, and he honestly wasn’t sure how he got there. His entire body ached. He rolled over with a groan. He was still in the same clothes as yesterday, meaning he never showered. When the teenager forced himself upright, the world span. Not yet, then… He laid back down and closed his eyes, but he didn’t sleep.

He could feel the soreness just laying there. He shouldn’t have let last night happen. He should’ve been more insistent about getting out of it. Tony knew now. He’d naively thought that would be the end of everything. Yet he was too scared to push Mr. Westworth yesterday. He’d thought the risk of losing his secret identity and anyone getting hurt trumped how bad things had been, but then last night things got worse and Peter was too delirious to get out of it then.

He rolled onto his side, staring at his clock. It was already 10am. The usual meet time was 7pm. It meant he had 9 hours to figure this out. Peter didn’t want to go back. He reached for his phone to text Mr. Stark. It wasn’t in its usual spot on the side table.

_ Shit! _ Peter sat up quickly, ignoring how his body protested. He checked his pockets and around the side table, but he didn’t see it. His backpack was gone too. He stumbled out into the living room, but it wasn’t there or in the kitchen either. He thought back to the blurry end of last night. He didn’t think he had his backpack in the Uber. He must’ve left it at Westworth’s house.  _ Fuck _ .

Peter went back to his bed and double-checked his sheets. However, when he bent over his bed, his stomach churned. Peter groaned and rolled back onto his bed, letting the adrenaline fade. Getting up hadn’t been the best idea.

“—in his room,” Peter heard May saying, and Peter looked at the clock again. It was well past noon now. He must’ve fallen asleep. A knock on his door made his head throb a little. Is this what hangovers were like?

“Peter, Tony’s on the phone,” May called out softly. Peter pulled his covers over him.

“Yeah. Come in,” Peter replied. May opened the door and handed her phone to him. She gave him a concerned look and pressed her hand to his forehead, feeling for a fever. Peter gave her a small smile and held her phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“ _ Kid? Thank god. You weren’t answering your phone. Are you okay? _ ” Mr. Stark asked. Peter thought for a moment. He was alive. He was okay, he supposed.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” He responded.

_“Good. When you didn’t respond to my calls last night, I was worried you were with him_ ,” Tony said. Peter frowned. He was with Mr. Westworth last night. He didn’t get out of it. Mr. Stark must’ve assumed that Peter was strong enough to talk his way out of it. He hadn’t been. He was too scared for himself and everyone else he cared about to risk it.

“I wasn’t,” Peter lied after a long moment, but he was debating whether he should’ve been honest long after the words left his lips. May had left the room now, but Peter still lowered his voice. “I explained that there was an employee event that you demanded I be at. He fell for it, but he took my phone as punishment. I think it’s at his house. I can have it back tonight.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Tony said. It wasn’t his first choice to have the kid running around New York without a cell phone, but it was better than the other option. “ _Well, I’m working on the situation from my end. We’re in a really tight corner if you want him in jail without anyone knowing who you are. Are you sure you don’t want me to just blast him?_ ”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Peter said. He never wanted anyone dead. He sometimes wished he did.

“ _I got more information on Maisie and her sister Julia, and from a few other police reports I got, I’m pretty sure this isn’t his first rodeo. He probably won’t be intimidated into silence. It’s… this isn’t an easy situation, Pete._ ”

“Right,” Peter nodded. He laid back against the pillows. He sort of wanted to hit himself. Some part of him had thought that telling Mr. Stark would fix everything— that Mr. Stark would have some magical solution to make it all better. The truth was, the billionaire seemed just as stuck as Peter, and he had even more resources to work with. Peter rubbed his eyes before they had a chance to tear up too much. He was still stuck, wasn’t he? Peter held his wrist up and looked at the renewed bruising in the dim light. It wouldn’t be going anywhere any time soon.

_“Pete?_ ” Tony asked quietly after a good minute of silence.

“I’m still here,” Peter sighed. “Just thinking. I don’t think we can arrest him unless I testify, which I obviously can’t. Maisie probably won’t if she’s angry about CPS. Have you thought of anything? At all?”

“ _I’m working on some ideas for Maisie, but they’re just half-baked at best. I wish I had a better answer, kid_ ,” Tony said. Tony painfully wished that he did. He had a few other ideas in the running, but he didn’t want to get Peter’s hopes up only to let them fall. “ _The thing is too, if he’s experienced, he’s probably got the photos backed up. Do you know if he has a desktop or anything?_ ”

“I would guess,” Peter shrugged. “Probably has an office or something. I still worry he has them somewhere where they’ll automatically post if he doesn’t do it himself.”

“ _Do you think you can get in there? Check around on his devices?_ ” Tony asked. Peter took a deep breath.

“Maybe.”

“ _I could send Romanoff or Barton if you want, but it’s going to be a bigger fallout if they get caught_ ,” Tony offered.

“No,” Peter was tired of doing nothing to stop this. “I’ll get it. I’ll head over there a bit early and see what I can find.”

“ _Okay. Get in, get out, and call me when you get home. Be_ extremely  _careful,_ ” Tony warned. “ _I’m at the compound right now looking into something for you, but I’ll be back downtown soon. I’m glad you’re okay._ ”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, and he hung up the phone. He laid in bed for another minute. He couldn’t sit around anymore. There couldn’t be another night like last night. Or any of the nights before. Telling Tony had done close to nothing for him, so he needed to find his own way out.

He finally pushed his poor body out of bed. His skin hurt when the hot water of the shower pounded into it, but he stayed as long as he could to get clean. He grabbed sweatpants and a gray hoodie. He could do this. He had it.

It’s almost 3 now, and he knew he had to get going. He lied to May again, telling her that he left his phone at Ned’s house when they had a movie marathon last night. She eyed him, but she said she was okay with him going over there. “Don’t stay long though. Just grab your phone and come back. You look sick.”

“I- uh. I promised Mr.Stark I would come over to the tower tonight,” Peter lied again. May’s eyes brightened in surprise, and she gave him a hopeful smile.

“Oh! Great. I’m glad to hear that. Have fun with him then, okay?”

“Yeah, I will,” Peter promised. She kissed his forehead and he struggled not to flinch at the touch- at the reminder of others who had kissed there. She had no idea… he waved goodbye before heading out. He leaned on the railing to the apartment stairs, breathing heavily. God… he hated having to lie to May. He’d forgotten how much it sucked before he told her he was Spider-Man, and this secret was a trillion times worse. He felt like he couldn’t breathe for a moment, but he knew he could. He ran through some of the breathing exercises Tony gave him before he started on his walk.

He walked slowly past the alleys, almost hoping that someone would grab him and mug him. He wouldn’t even fight back. He would only refuse enough to get him beat up. It would get him out of tonight, at least. Maybe Tony would have a solution by then. Unfortunately, he arrived at the Westworth residence without incident.

Peter easily scaled the high privacy fence, landing in the backyard. His spider-senses already buzzed in warning, and Peter knew to ignore them. He got close to the house, crouching as he moved along the wall. He eventually found a window to an office. The door from the office to the rest of the house was open, but Peter didn’t think anyone was currently using the office. He carefully but quietly forced the window open and slipped in.

He woke up the desktop, which was, of course, password locked. Peter frowned. He’d need to go find his backpack and phone. He crouched down and crawled into the kitchen, and then to his room. He sighed with relief to find his backpack. He didn’t waste any time, grabbing his mask and setting it on the floor next to him. He searched for his phone, but it wasn’t in its usual side pocket, and he was afraid to waste time.

He heard Maisie talking in the living room as he crept back to the office, but her voice was lighter than usual. A smaller, younger voice replied. It must’ve been Julia.

Peter got back to the desktop and pulled his mask on.

“Karen, hack this,” He whispered. Karen started breaking past the firewall of the home network which allowed her to unlock the desktop remotely. Peter grabbed the mouse and clicked on file explorer, looking for any recent photos. He heard footsteps coming.

“Clone the drives,” He whispered hurriedly to Karen before slipping under the desk to hide. He slid the mask under the drawers so it could keep going even if he didn’t. Mr. Westworth’s heavy feet came into the office, and he stood there for a moment. The feet came closer to the desk, and Peter could see the shadow being cast over the chair.

“Do you really think I’m that stupid, Parker?” His voice boomed. Peter felt his chest vibrate in time with it, and his heart rate accelerated to match. A few more footsteps and the chair was kicked aside, leaving Peter trapped under the desk. He was about to break through the backboard when Mr. Westworth grabbed his hoodie, wrestling him out. Peter struggled, and once he was no longer half-under the desk, he swung around, whacking Mr. Westworth in the nose with his elbow. The man stumbled back and hit the wall. Peter stood ready to fight more, but Mr. Westworth just smiled. A gross, eerie smile.

“What?!” Peter demanded, feeling something off in the air of the room.

“Go ahead and fight me, Peter. Knock me out if you please. I know you want to,” Westworth teased. Peter took a step closer. “However, if I don’t get in touch with my contact every 24 hours, they’ll release the photos. So please, ruin your own life.”

Peter felt his stomach twist. The photos were somewhere else— with someone else. They had to have gone virtual by now, and if they went viral, Peter knew he wouldn’t be able to get them back.

“I hate you,” Peter snarled, hating even more how childish he sounded as he said it. Mr. Westworth laughed and closed the distance between him and Peter. Peter made a motion to move back when a hand was placed on the side of his neck. Mr. Westworth gripped him tightly.

“Remember that part about minimal resistance? You’re breaking that part of the deal right now,” Westworth reminded. Peter wanted to punch him, but his fist only came halfway up before he stopped himself. The man just smirked.

“I guess you need another punishment, don’t you?” Westworth said. Peter tensed.

“I don’t.”

“Then I suppose we’ll be attending your aunt’s funeral together, won’t we?” He teased. Peter glared at him.

“You can’t touch her,” Peter said defiantly.

“Oh yes. I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first one to get to her. I’m not that fast, and I’m more preoccupied with you. You can protect her from me, but what about from the entire city when those photos go live?” Westworth asked. Peter clenched his teeth together. Mr. Westworth shuffled them backwards until Peter’s back hit the desk. The man opened a drawer.

“I was ready for this, with the way you’ve been acting,” Westworth said quietly, still gripping Peter’s neck. Peter’s spider-sense spiked, and he flinched, but Westworth tutted.

“Nuh-Uh-Uh. I’m in control,” He reminded. Peter felt the signal to move his neck away, and he leaned back. Westworth just stabbed the syringe into his chest instead. Peter quickly batted the hand away, but the syringe was empty before it hit the floor.

“The hell was that?!” Peter asked, feeling a warmth spreading through his chest.

“Just a strong sedative. Dealer said it would work on an enhanced. I started keeping some of this around once you came about,” Westworth smiled. “Is it working?”

“No,” Peter said, even as he had to lean against the desk. His body and limbs felt heavier, and when Mr. Westworth took his hand off his neck, Peter had to clutch the desk for balance.

“Yeah, it seems to be working,” Westworth rolled his eyes. He grabbed Peter by the arm, pulling him out of the office. Peter stumbled along and almost tripped, but his teacher caught him.

“Dad?” Maisie asked, standing up from the couch. She looked at the two males. Her sister started to turn too, but Maisie was quick, blocking Peter’s view of her. “Don’t miss your show, Julia. You’ll have to catch me up.”

“Peter decided to show up early,” Mr. Westworth huffed. “‘No change in plans though. Get back to work.” Peter looked between them in confusion, but Westworth dragged him down back to the usual room.

Peter flopped on the bed like a rag doll when Westworth shoved his body off of him, and Peter now noticed that the rest of his suit was spread across the bed, limbs of the suit stretched out to make an X like Westworth often made Peter do. 

Mr. Westworth grabbed a web shooter from the side table, and Peter strained his neck to see. He must’ve been going through all of Peter’s stuff.

“Now how do I work this?” He messed with it, and despite Peter’s protests, he found the trigger, and a bit of webbing hit the wall.

“It’s not a toy,” Peter complained, but he knew he sounded whiny saying it. Westworth set it down on the side table, putting his hands up in mock innocence.

“Whatever. How long does the webbing last?” Westworth asked. Peter just blinked at him. Mr. Westworth took a step closer to Peter, brushing his hand against his collarbone.

“It dissolves in two hours,” Peter answered uncomfortably.

“But it’s strong until the end?”

“Yeah. Why are you asking?” Peter pushed. He was confused, and while his mind was starting to get groggy, he was starting to wonder just what, if anything, Westworth intended to do with his web shooters.

“Just wondering,” Westworth smirked in a way that always made Peter uncomfortable. He tapped the bed. “Come on now.”

Peter eyed him, not trying to move his heavy muscles. Whatever drugs Westworth had hit him with made it difficult to move, and thinking was taking a decent amount of effort. Mr. Westworth sighed and grabbed Peter around the waist, manipulating his body until he was spread eagle as well and lying on top of the suit.

Fabric scissors came out, and Peter tried to roll away as Mr. Westworth cut through his hoodie, but he was all too easily pulled back. He felt weaker than he should, even if his mind was mostly with him. It was okay, he told himself. His metabolism should kick in soon to wear the drug off. It wasn’t soon enough to prevent Peter from ending up naked on the bed.

After his teacher used mountain climbing ropes instead of handcuffs to tie him up, Peter had a late reaction of surprise when webbing coated his wrist and the headboard. The same went for all other restraints.

“What are you doing?” Peter slurred, but then there’s a hand around his throat. He wouldn’t choke Peter, Peter figured. He was already drugged enough to be complacent.

“You don’t ask questions, Parker. You follow directions. Now stay quiet unless you’re moaning or answering a question,” Westworth threatened. Peter nodded, and then the man pulled away. Why the extra restrained? Peter tried to think back to last night. Had he broken the handcuffs and not realized?

Mr. Westworth then just left the room. Peter lay there, waiting for the man to come back. He would make him do something or do something to him soon. This wasn’t enough for the man he knew. Peter stared up at the ceiling, and it felt like his world was tilting, but never exactly falling over. He kept waiting, but it felt like maybe half an hour before Westworth walked back into the room.

Peter lifted his head up, and he realized it was a bit easier. The drugs must have been wearing off. He pulled at his hand, and the web pulled his wrist back into place, but he had some of his strength back. Westworth grabbed his elbow, and Peter shifted his arm away, but the man’s grip help fast.

“Yeah, I figured you’d need a re-up,” Westworth huffed, flashing another needle.

“No!” Peter protested, but it was too late. The drugs went into his bloodstream, pulling him back down. Westworth came in and out two more times just to give him fresh doses. Peter tried to think through growing fog. Why would he keep him tied up like this? He wasn’t even doing anything.

* * *

Tony was sitting in the meeting room with Natasha, Vision, and Wanda, trying to talk through different plans. They had some ideas, but Tony was waiting on Peter to confirm that the photos were clear. He kept checking his phone, even though he knew Friday would tell him as soon as the kid texted. He was starting to think he should just fly over to Queens and check it out himself. It was after 5, and they were running out of time.

“Vision, do you have it down yet?” Tony asked. Vision looked at him with a frown.

“Not quite yet. Although I do not know how much more skill I would find within the next few hours. It may not be much more,” Vision replied.

Tony drummed his fingers on the table. “I mean, theoretically, it’s got to be possible to—“ his phone buzzed, stopping him in his tracks.

_ I know you know. _ Peter’s text read.

Tony blinked. What the hell did that mean? The message was so… eerie. His phone vibrated again.

_ Get too close, and someone’s going to die. Defiance has its consequences, and there are many who would be happy to meet Spider-Man. _

Tony tensed. Peter wouldn’t write something like that. It wasn’t him and the words didn’t match his tone. The location of his phone was still showing his teacher’s house. He quickly slid the holographic computer up.

“Friday, run another base scan for Spider-Man or Queens’ News in the last 24 hours.”

_ “It’s mostly the usual, boss. Just tweets about him. A few mention they haven’t seen any news of him lately.” _

“What about deeper? Try the web that’s off the grid. The deep web,” Tony clarified. Deeper searches took longer but after a minute, a single post came up on his tablet, and his heart stopped. Tony clutched the table, trying not to let panic take over. “Assemble the team.  _ Now _ .”

* * *

Peter’s head perked up when he heard voices. There were multiple male adults from what he can tell, and they were chuckling and laughing in the house. Westworth was entertaining  _ guests _ ? Why did he even have Peter tied up in here then? Some weird show of dominance? Peter was tempted to yell out for help. So tempted… but he didn’t. He couldn’t force the risky words past his lips. Some time later, the voices lower, but don’t leave, and a minute later, the knob to the room is twisting

“—and he probably needs another shot anyway,” Westworth said, looking behind him as he opened the door. Peter tried to sit up, but his position made it awkward.

“What are you-“ Peter stopped mid-sentence when the slightly ajar door opened further, and a man entered. Followed by  _ multiple _ other men. Peter felt a blush spread across his entire body, and he waited for the inevitable horror of Westworth’s friends at his actions, but there was none of that. Peter didn’t understand. He didn’t understand until the one in front looked at the boy and smiled as he stroked Peter’s calf.

“Wait- wait, sir!” Peter pulled slightly at his restraints, but they held fast. Westworth didn’t look at him. Why were there other people here? His identity… May… oh god… “What about the deal?!”

“You broke the deal. You told your super friends... You suck at lying you know. And it’ll be the last lie you ever tell,” Westworth smirked, ignoring Peter as he tried to pull his ankle away from the man closest to him.

“No! Get off!” Peter shouted, and he actually  _ looked to Mr. Westworth _ for help.

“So who was first? I know I get last dibs, but I don’t remember who was first,” Westworth said casually to the men in the room.

“Me,” The man in front said firmly. “I paid the most.” Peter stared at Westworth in horror, and he tried to curl into himself to break the bonds, but they still held steady as his strength was being returned to him. He would need a sudden force. “Mr.Westworth! Wait! You can’t-“ the teacher’s hand on his throat shut Peter up, but choking was one thing, and getting gang raped was another.

Peter yanked his right arm toward him, breaking through the aged webbing and rope and grabbing Westworth’s wrist. Peter forced the hand away from himself, but the others were reacting now, rushing forward. More hands grabbed Peter’s arms, and a fist found his face. Peter’s fingers slipped away from Mr. Westworth’s skin, and his arm was pinned against the mattress.

“Hold him still!” Westworth growled. “I just need to stab him with more of this.” The pinned arm soon had another prick in it, and Peter felt the weakness returning. No! No…

The group slowly pulled away from him, and Mr. Westworth reattached his limbs to the bed with a fresh coat of webbing. Peter struggled, but a hand splayed across his bare chest held him down all too easily. Peter shook his head to the beat of his ability, meeting Mr. Westworth’s eye’s. “You can’t. Pl—“

“I can and I will. These men paid good money—  _ getaway money _ — to be here. I’m going to let each and every one of them fuck you. And when they’re done,  _ I’m _ going to take your gaping hole and fill it myself. Then I’ll leave your body someplace not even the Avengers can find it, got it?” Westworth squeezed the tender skin where he’d been injecting the drugs and stepped back to lean against the wall. Peter’s tongue was thick and fat in his throat, and the panic set in as the first man stepped forward again.

“You said he’s locked in?” He asked Mr. Westworth.

“As long as we keep him drugged up,” Westworth confirmed.

“But he can still feel pain?” He clarified.

“Should be able to,” Westworth smirked. Peter whimpered, pulling at his restraints, but the man was unfazed as he settled between the boy’s legs. He grabbed the exposed cock and squeezed so tightly that Peter cried out in pain. He bucked his hips but the grip wouldn’t loosen until tears were streaming out of his eyes. The man was watching him with satisfaction, but also growing anger.

“You know what you did to me, kid?!” He snarled, voice gruff like a pack of grating cigarettes. “I was just trying to make ends meet. Just trying to support my family. Then  _ you _ put me in prison.” The ‘you’ was punctuated with a punch to the stomach that took Peter off guard. The man waited for a response, and he growled in frustration when he didn’t get one.

“I lost my  _ wife _ \- my  _ kids _ \- my  _ family _ !” He yelled, punching Peter in the ribs with each emphasized word, and the last punch was so hard that Peter thought he may have fractured something. The convict glared at the ever-silent vigilante and looked to Westworth. “I can rough the twink up, right?”

“As long as you don’t kill him,” Westworth shrugged. The man on the bed shifted, and his knee was now putting his weight on Peter’s stomach, pressing the air out of him until there was barely enough space to breath. Peter looked up at him in fear, but his eyes snapped shut when he couldn’t stop the incoming punch to the face.

There was a barrage of hits to his face and his chest, enough that Peter could taste the blood in his mouth and feel the telltale ache of broken ribs, but the man didn't relent, taking out all his rage and fury on the defenseless teenager. “I lost my entire  _ life _ because of you!” He swung both his hands down in an interlocked arc, and this time Peter heard something crack, and he yelped in pain. He couldn’t tell if anyone else heard the crack or if it was just his powers. Either way, when the man took his knee away from his stomach, it didn’t get any easier to breathe.

“I’m going to fuck your bitch ass until you’ve paid for what you did to me,” The vengeful man warned, and Peter tried to wriggle in the bed. The man moved down and held his hips in a bruising grip, one so hard that Peter worried his hips were going to break too. He was impatient, and he was pushing into Peter before any protests could be made. It was an insidious push with not enough lube, and as much as he tried not to, Peter’s uncomfortable squirming only made it hurt worse.

“Please,” Peter cried, eyeing the line of men behind him. He couldn’t. He couldn’t take this. The man inside of him just chuckled.

“Relax. I’ll give you what you want,” He pulled out and thrust back into Peter roughly, drawing a shout from the boy. It didn't stop, and his lower body filled with the pain and the abuse of it all until that was the only thing that he felt.

The man fucked in and out of him like a ram, and every time Peter tried to shift, the hands dragged him back into the same position, slamming into that sensitive spot with each jab. Peter choked on his own coughs and blood, and he tasted bile as the man finished and spurted into his ass. The man continued to fuck him through his own orgasm, waiting a long while before he stilled, resting inside Peter’s ass. He savored the moment, just briefly, and then he pulled out of the young man as quickly as he pushed in.

Peter clenched his eyes shut, trying so hard to shut everything out and just dissociate like he was told, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t  _ not _ focus on the room. Not when his Spider Sense was screaming in fear and his body was crying in pain. Not when they were discussing who got to go next.

“I’m sorry I was late. I’ll be willing to pay 30,000 though. I assume that’s enough to go next?” A voice said, a little clearer than the rest. There was a bit of quiet and then some whispers.

“Christ, that’s more than twice what I paid,” The first man said, and Peter recognized this because it was a voice that he already knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t forget. He almost scoffed a sob at this. He’s being sold off for ten thousand a fuck. This was how he was going to die…

“You can fuck him twice. Some of the other men will go while you recharge for the second round,” Westworth decided. There was a bit more interchange between that clear voice and Westworth’s, and then the bed shifted again. Peter whimpered and opened his eyes.

The man straddled him, still dressed, and Peter looked at the heavy beard he sported. Was he going to choke on that hair like a cat? God, that was such a weird thought to have now. The man’s head hair was just as long, and thick, gruff hands gripped the sides of his face as he leans down to kiss Peter. Peter’s neck strained to get his head farther into the pillows, but it didn’t make a difference. Not really. He couldn’t get away

However, something happened when their lips touch. Lights flashed before Peter’s closed eyes and those flashes became images. Images of Tony and the team and  _ Peter _ , himself. He was smiling in the image, not like now, where he was choking on tears and blood. There was more transference and Peter didn’t understand through the fog until he did. The team had been making plans. Plans for  _ him _ . Who…  _ Vision?! _

* * *

Maisie jumped when her window slid open, and someone was stepping in. She gasped, switching her phone to the call button, but her fingers stopped. Help wouldn’t come fast enough. Her hand flew to the nightstand in an instant, hand wrapping around a gun. She sat up in bed, propped up on one arm aiming at the intruder. Or intruders. Two of them.

“Whoa! Whoa,” Natasha put her hands up in defense, and Clint stopped where he was crouched in the window. Her voice was steady as she stared down the barrel, but there was no threat in it. “No need for guns, Maisie.”

“Maisie?” Julia’s small voice said, and Maisie pushed her little sister who’d been snuggling with her behind her for safety. Maisie hushed her.

“Do you know who we are?” Natasha asked, staying still so as to not freak Maisie out.

“Yes,” Maisie whispered, fighting to keep her hand steady. They were Avengers. She should’ve known this would happen. Peter is Spider-Man, for fuck’s sake.

“What the hell are you doing here? You can’t take us,” Maisie defied. Thoughts raced through her mind of foster system scenarios and she fought back the fear. They couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t let them. “I’ll kill you before you give us to CPS.”

“We’re not going to,” Clint assured gently, still waiting in the window. “We know what you’re worried about. It won’t happen. We’re making sure of it. That’s why we’re here. Not to hurt you— not to separate you.”

“Maisie, do you know what your father is planning? What he’s doing?” Natasha asked carefully.

“Yes,” Maisie whispered, dipping her head a bit. She knew he was planning to have Peter gang raped and killed so they could get out of the country. He had told Maisie not to leave her room unless he came to get her.

“Then you know we need to leave. The team’s going to stop it, and we know that no one wants you and your sister in the crossfire. We’ll keep you safe,” Natasha said carefully. She nodded toward Julia. “We’ll keep her safe.”

“We promise,” Clint added. “You’ll stay with us until everything is set.” Maisie considered them. They could’ve easily taken her down by now. She was a 17 year old against Avengers. If they meant her harm, they would’ve hurt her already. Hell, they should’ve disarmed her by now. They were making it seem like she had power and had a choice, even though she knew she probably didn’t. She carefully, slowly lowered the gun, rising to her feet.

“Julia, get your shoes,” Maisie instructed. Julia looked up at her in fear and shock, terrified to see that her sister had a gun and was going to send them with strangers. However, Julia still trusted her, and she scrambled to get her shoes on. Maisie pushed her feet into her sneakers without bending down. Clint came in the rest of the way and slung a backpack off his shoulder.

“Is there anything that needs to come with us?” Clint asked, looking around the room for anything that looked important. Meaningful items… medications…

“No,” Maisie said, and Clint nodded.

“Grab some clothes then,” He instructed. Maisie actually set the gun on her side table, rummaging through their drawers as quietly but quickly as possible to get some spare clothes. She let Clint pack them, but then she grabbed the gun again. She wasn’t aiming it at them, but she was still keeping it with her. Julia grabbed her in a hug, and Maisie whispered something into her ear.

“Don’t try to send us anywhere we don’t want,” Maisie warned. Natasha nodded, and she stepped out the window, offering Maisie her hand.

* * *

“Are you going to fuck him or just make out with him?” Someone huffed impatiently. “Spider-bitch certainly didn’t hesitate to fuck my business over.”

“I’m working up to it,” Vision responded calmly. He spread his body over Peter’s more, chest pressing against Peter’s through their clothes. Peter tensed. Undercover was undercover, but Vision wouldn’t actually hurt him, right? He knew Vision wouldn’t, or he at least knew he should know, but here were all these men lining up to pay to fuck him. He shivered at the thought, and Vision’s thumbs brushed under his eyes, wiping his tears away and pushing his head back against the pillow.

Vision put his forehead to Peter’s. Peter’s spider-sense buzzed. He heard a repulsor powering up, and an explosion rocked the room as Iron Man blasted through the wall. Debris blew around them, but Vision’s body was protecting most of Peter’s torso from flying chunks of wall. Before the dust had even settled, Iron Man landed heavily in the room.

A gun shot off, and Peter flinched in response to his senses. Vision’s hand pushed hard into the right side of Peter’s head. Flares shot through the room, followed by stunners for all the perps. Tony charged at Westworth, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him into the wall. Vision took his hand away from Peter’s hair, revealing a bullet entangled in the wires and mesh of his hand. Peter inhaled sharply. Westworth had tried to shoot him in the head.

“You fucking bastard!” Tony growled, punching him in the face. He had just landed another blow to the man’s gut when Captain America got to them, putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“Stark, stop! You said yourself not to kill him,” Steve reminded. Westworth cracked a bloody smile, and Tony felt the disgust through his entire body. Iron Man let Cap push him away to handcuff Westworth and shove him to the ground. Tony kicked the bastard in the side, but then he heard Vision quietly speaking to Peter.

“You’re alright,” Vision assured, holding onto Peter gently in case he panicked, but firmly enough that he couldn’t accidentally hurt himself. Peter nodded into Vision’s hands, trying to remember to breathe. The contact... the pictures...

“Are you badly hurt?” Vision asked. Peter shook his head. The only thing more important to Tony than kicking Westworth’s ass right now was Peter, and the heavy breaths of his kid had him scrambling for a blanket.

“N-no,” Peter gasped. He didn’t think he had any urgent injuries, at least. Tony covered Peter with the blanket, allowing Vision to get off and give Peter more space. Tony didn’t miss the bullet. If Vision hadn’t been there...

“I got ya, Pete,” Tony promised. He sliced through the restraints and gathered Peter up into his arms. Peter winced as it jostled his ribs, but the face of his mentor took over. Peter stared at him for a second.  _ Safe _ , his mind chimed, and it was like flipping a switch. The teenager burrowed into the billionaire’s chest, gripping him tightly. He took two more breaths before the next exhale was a sob.

“Tony!” Peter stammered. “He drugged me! and he- he was gonna kill me after they- after they…” Peter pressed his face into Mr. Stark's shoulder.

“Shh,” Tony hushed, holding him close. “You’re okay. We got you.” Tony brushed the boy’s brown, messy hair, checking that none of the bullet had actually reached him. He snuck a glance at Westworth on the floor, mentally deciding that he was going to kick his damn ass later. Peter leaned further into Mr. Stark, but his body moaned in protest. His limbs still felt mushy, and he would’ve fallen back down if not for the hand supporting his back.

“Tony,” Peter mumbled. "The pictures..."

“We know. It’s okay. We've got it. Trust me,” Tony assured. He wasn't going to let the photos get out, not as long as he could stop it. If he could. To his luck, although he would hardly call it luck, Peter was too tired and delirious to challenge him. Tony could feel that too much of Peter's weight was on him, and he nudged the kid as gently as possible. "Come on. We need to get you on the jet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I know there's still a lot of questions and loose ends to tie up, but that should all be covered in the next chapter. Hopefully the last chapter will be up by the end of the weekend, but no promises with uni.


	9. Chapter 9

“Okay, easy on the ramp,” Tony said gently, helping Peter walk to quinjet with his weakened limbs. Clint pushed off his spot on the wall, grabbing the spare clothes kept on the jet. He got to Tony and Peter just as Tony helped Peter collapse into one of the seats. Maisie looked at the three of them and pulled her sister closer into her chest, both embracing her and keeping her from seeing anything.

“Do you need help?” Tony asked, and Peter felt his face turn red.

“No… I think I got it. Just..,” Peter frowned, and he almost felt stupid asking after everything they’d already seen. “Can you guys look away?”

“Of course,” Tony turned away from Peter, but he kept standing with an arm stretched out behind him in case Peter needed help balancing. Which he did. Peter felt like it was a miracle he didn’t trip over in getting the boxers on, and he dropped back into the seat as soon as he could, breathing heavily. It was a lot of effort. Tony cautiously turned to see that boxers were as far as the kid made it. But Peter wanted to do it himself...

”Here,” Clint seemed to make the decision for them, grabbing Peter’s arm carefully and lifting it to slide it into the shirt. He helped Peter get the shirt on the rest of the way, but Peter didn’t speak much except for a mumbled thanks. Clint then insisted on Peter letting him help with a pair of gym shorts, and embarrassed and tired and drugged as he was, Peter appreciated being dressed again.

“There we go, kid,” Tony cooed, ruffling his hair as gently as he could without scaring him. “Friday, can you scan him?”

“Peter has several contusions, and three fractured ribs, but no injuries that require urgent medical attention,” Friday reported from above. “I recommend simple painkillers to help with pain.”

“I’ll go grab some,” Tony said, heading to the drawer designated for the enhanced members of the team. Peter looked up at Maisie, who was glaring in his direction. Peter frowned.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said quietly. Tony was about to firmly remind Peter that this was  _ not _ his fault when Maisie responded instead.

“I told you not to,” Maisie hissed. Peter shrunk in on himself a little, and Tony fought the urge to snap at Maisie for causing his kid any more pain. Clint remained focused on the problem-solving.

“You’re not going to go to CPS,” Clint reminded, although they’d already discussed it. “Natasha can be your legal guardian until things work out, if you’d like.”

Maisie huffed and looked away. She focused on brushing out a knot in Julia’s hair with her fingers. Peter looked at Clint and tilted his head in confusion. Maisie was staying with them? What if she didn’t want to cooperate?

Natasha came back to the jet around that time, eyes set on Tony. “I got the web address. It’s not very public. It should be easy to delete.” She said. “We have a few hours to stop the failsafe.”

“That’s more than enough,” Tony said. Natasha nodded and looked to Peter, who was already feeling some of the weight lift from his chest.

“Vision and Wanda are working with everyone we rounded up, especially Westworth. With the help of the stone, he’s not going to remember he even knew you,” Natasha promised. Peter shifted in his seat.

“Really?” He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It felt wrong to mess with someone’s mind, but it might be the best thing for now. Maisie covered Julia’s ears.

“Wait, you’re wiping his mind?!” Maisie asked in alarm. He was still her father, and she still wanted him to know her and what he’d done.

“No. Just the bits with Peter,” Natasha clarified. Maisie eyed Natasha with distrust, but didn’t fight it further.

“Are we going to be able to lock him up?” Peter asked nervously. “If he doesn’t remember me, how would we prove that he’s—“

“There are others, not just you,” Maisie cut in, drawing the attention of the room. She blushed. “I won’t lie. And the others will want to tell their stories too.”

Peter sagged in relief. Maisie was with him. She wasn’t going to defend her father out of spite. Tony nodded in understanding. “Thank you,” Tony said quietly. Maisie just nodded, and she looked down at her sister.

“Can we keep her out of this?” Maisie asked. Natasha nodded.

“Of course,” Natasha promised.

* * *

“I’m just about in,” Tony said, typing on the console. Peter, Maisie, and the team that had rescued them hung about. Even though he had his own clothes on now, Peter had asked Tony to grab him a new blanket from his room in the compound, and it made him feel a bit safer and hidden as he sat in his chair. Most of the others were standing in the compound’s lab, but Peter’s body was still trying to fight off the drugs in his system. They’d asked, but Maisie didn’t know much about what her father drugged Peter with, so Bruce wanted to play it safe by not mixing more drugs with whatever was in his system.”

“Okay, found it,” Tony announced, finding the photos. Peter noted where they’d been taken. He needed to be more careful. This was all his fault. He was being too reckless in public.Tony ran a scan for all copies of the photos on the computer, web address, ip, and the more common underworld sites. He deleted everything. “Alright… I think we’re good. Friday will keep an eye out on the broader internet. She should be able to catch anything through the backdoors before it goes viral. Steve and Vision already left to go find this guy. Westworth is in custody, as well as the other men who were there, and no one should remember you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, relief flooding his body. His identity was safe. His friends and family were safe. Tony turned away from the console and set his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter wanted to twitch away, but he didn’t and the touch grew warm after a moment. He was glad he hadn’t pulled away.

“You’re okay, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter said quietly. He was so relieved. Beyond relieved. He felt his ears tearing up, and the sympathetic look that Tony gave him just made the tears even harder to hold back. Peter was holding his breath to try and keep it in, but he let his breath go, turning his head away from tony. He finally shifted out of Tony’s grip, staring down at the floor. He heard a door close at the back of the room, and he snuck glances at the feet of those still there. That was Maisie. Peter got to his feet, setting the blanket on a table. He headed towards the door too.

“Where are you off to?” Tony asked, worried. Peter turned to look at him as he walked back.

“Bathroom,” Peter replied casually.

“Okay. We’re here to talk if you need it,” Tony said, worried that the kid was going to go off and cry alone.

“I know,” Peter nodded. “Really. I just have to pee. That okay?” He forced himself to crack a smile for the first time that night. Tony smiled back with relief.

“Yeah.”

Once the door was closed, Peter listened for Maisie’s breathing, and it didn’t take him long to find her. She was near a railing, overlooking part of the living room with windows outside to the field. It was still dark out, but it wouldn’t be much longer until the sun came up. Peter made sure his footsteps were loud enough for her to hear him coming.

“Hey,” He said quietly.

“Hey,” Maisie responded flatly.

“You okay?” Peter asked, if anything, just because he didn’t know what else to ask.

“Not really, no.”

“Right,” Peter’s face turned a bit red. “Stupid question.” He crossed his arms to lean on the railing, feeling the soft texture of his hoodie against his skin. Maisie looked at him before refocusing on the darkness outside, which was nothing, really. They stood in silence for a long moment.

“Thanks,” Peter said. “For... cooperating, I guess. I was worried you’d be angry.”

“Nope,” Maisie said with a slight pop, shaking her head. “You definitely made me angry.”

“Oh,” Peter mumbled, ducking his head. “Sorry.”

“I  _ was _ angry. Still am, I guess, but less. This was going to happen eventually. I told myself it wouldn’t, but… it did happen,” Maisie said. “Right now, I’m just focused on making sure Julia is safe.”

“She’s safe from him now,” Peter assured. Maisie shrugged. "Mrs. Romanoff said that without me getting involved, there should still be enough evidence to keep him away for life. I think she's right."

“She is. He’s still our father though. I feel bad. Julia shouldn’t grow up without parents,” Maisie sighed.

“You’ll take care of her,” Peter said.

“What makes you so sure?” Maisie asked. She ran a hand through her hair, unconsciously trying to release some of the energy pent up inside her.

“I just know,” Peter said. Maisie shook her head.

“You scared the shit out of me, y’know-- risking everything like that.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you,” Peter acknowledged. “Everything just happened  _ really fast _ , and I didn’t even know Tony knew what was happening. I thought I was… uh… I really thought I was gonna die.”

“You probably were,” Maisie said, lacking much sympathy. “But you didn’t. I thought my father was going to kill me at multiple points in my life. You’ll get over it.”

“I guess,” Peter shrugged. He could feel that it would take a long time, but he was still here. He was okay, and so was everyone else. Even Maisie. Well, Peter was pretty sure she had some sort of trauma, but she wasn’t going anywhere. She’d stay until at least the trial was over, and Peter decided that he was going to be determined to get her help too. They’d heal. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading all of this! It means a lot. And just a heads up... I did leave this rather open-ended. I'm thinking of potential writing a sequel that would be sfw for the most part, and just center around Peter and Maisie, but I need to take a bit of a break to work on some original projects and other wips. If I don't start a sequel within three months or so, I'll write an epilogue that covers the trial and any other questions you have. Thanks again :)

**Author's Note:**

> The majority of this fic is written, so updates shouldn't take too long. This fic has been in my google drive for a long time, so it just needs edits before I post chapters, and I typically edit when I'm too tired to write. Feedback helps me choose which fics to work on though.


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